Opheliac
by Ninny Wagtail
Summary: Sigyn was the only woman Loki could ever love, but tragedy took her away from him. For years, he grieved. But what if one day, he finds a Midgardian woman bearing a striking resemblance to his departed wife?    My take on Loki/Sigyn; pre-movie;  REVISED
1. Author's Note: MUST READ

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (MUST READ)**

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><p>To my dearest readers:<p>

First of all, I would like to apologize for the long hiatus. You see, my family and I went on vacation out of the country for a while, which prevented me from continuing, but it didn't stop me from forming new ideas and plans for Opheliac. But I found that the more I thought of it, the more I started to _hate _it.

I didn't hate the plot, but I can't say I like it either. But I am aware that I executed it poorly. Also, I _hate_ my Sigyn. I don't know why, but I do.

And after a lot of self-loathing, I decided to revise the whole thing.

I am genuinely sorry for this, especially to those who subscribed, and those who were kind enough to leave reviews, but I promise you that I will do my very best to not disappoint. It's just that this is my first experience writing stories, and I'm feeling _really_ self-conscious. I'm even trying to avoid reading other fics so as not to dampen my already low self-esteem. My vocabulary isn't at all that advanced either because I'm not quite fond of reading books. But I _am_ trying to indulge myself in some.

And speaking of other fanfics, a major factor that contributed to my wanting to revise this story is that fact that there is another, _older_ fic that is quite similar to mine. And I assure you, guys, _especially_ the author, that any similarity between my fic and hers is purely coincidental. I swear. I already did my very best to try to give as much difference as possible.

And now, readers, I give you a new and improved version of Opheliac. (I'm literally shaking out of sheer nervousness here!)

Hope you would all enjoy it and thank you!

P.S: All song lyrics that will be used in this story are originally written and sung by Erutan.


	2. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

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><p>The courtyard had always been a place for serenity, for those who seek peace of mind, and yet none frequented. It was odd, she thought, that a place so beautiful could be ignored. Painted stones covered the cross-shaped pathway, whereas the corners uncovered were outlined with clean cut shrubs, spiraling around a large tree where colorful blossoms bloomed. And in the middle of it all, where all the pathways met, was a large and spectacular monument made of gold and marble—the likeness of Odin, himself, riding his trusty steed, Sleipnir, holding his mighty staff, Gungnir, up high as his mouth was open in a silent battle cry.<p>

She stood by it alone as she softly sang a familiar tune—so light in her lips that only she could hear.

"_I belong here with you_

_Though the earth cries inside me_

_I will fly high into the storm_

_Far from the light, I will be strong_…"

The melody stopped as she heard the steel footsteps of an oncoming visitor.

She raised her hand to the level of her eyes and stared at the gorgeous golden snake band that adorned her fourth finger glimmering under the light of the sun, and soon, her eyes started to glimmer as well as her tears threatened to spill, but she managed to blink them away.

"I was hoping you would give me one last chance to say goodbye to my husband," she said to the man behind her. She withdrew her hand back to her side.

"You already had that chance before he had gone to war," he growled like a beast warning its prey.

"Still," she reasoned, "it would have been nice to see him again. It had been days since I have last seen him."

The man didn't reply and only unsheathed his sword from its scabbard, the sound of the metal sliding against metal making her cringe.

"Before you proceed," she said, "will you tell me how you got past through Odin's Valkyries?"

He chuckled darkly. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Your Highness."

"You do know that he will make you suffer for this," she continued. "He has a knack for torture."

"Oh, don't you worry," he replied confidently. "I will be long gone before he even arrives."

Her fists clenched involuntarily, and then she finally turned around to face him. He stared down at her as his eyes burned with deep hatred, but she stood tall, never allowing herself to be intimidated.

"Tell me then, Lord Theoric," she said. "Is it all worth it? Is your revenge worth betraying your own kinsmen?"

"He took you away from me," he replied. "It is only right that I do the same to him."

"That still doesn't count as a valid reason. Surely there are other women out there just dying to be your wife."

"Are you trying to dissuade me, Sigyn?"

"I am married to a prince of Asgard which makes me as of equal importance. I am still your princess and you should address me as such."

He scowled and gritted his teeth in annoyance. He lifted his blade and pointed it dangerously to the side of her neck. "You still have the gall to act brave even when you know you are about to face death?"

"If I were to die," she said, her chin up high and proud, "I would like to die with honor and dignity." With that, he raised his sword.

She closed her eyes tight, and her last thought before the sword plunged was the face of her husband—skin so beautifully pale, his mischievous yet charming grin, hair as dark as the night sky, and his glorious green eyes, and despite wanting to act courageous until the very end, her tears came streaming down her cheeks as they pushed through her lids.

~o~o~o~

The Valkyrie merely watched as he slayed the princess, pushing back the curtains from one of the large cathedral windows as she peered. She heard her speak, and she felt a pinch of pride as Sigyn spoke with a stern and commanding tone, fit for a future queen. But what good would pride do? She was going to die. There was no time for pride, but then again, emotions were emotions, like fire, difficult to extinguish, and it was no different when the sword finally struck, and the Valkyrie found herself clutching at her heart, as if she was the one who was slain. She heard the sword slash through the air. She heard the blade piercing through flesh. And she heard the princess' choke gasp as the sword protruded from her lower back.

The Valkyrie's eyes widened, and covered her mouth with one hand. Sigyn fell to the cold hard ground, creating a pool of blood as she convulsed like mad, and the Valkyrie found it hard to breathe.

She wasn't supposed to be surprised. She wasn't supposed to feel hurt. This wasn't part of the plan.

The door nearest to her that led to the courtyard opened, and in came none other than the princess' murderer himself. He turned towards her, eyes cold and narrowed.

"You look unwell, Freya," said Theoric. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

Freya paled at the sight of his bloody sword as he held it in a firm grip. He was clearly threatening her. She shook her head. "No," she said. "Of course not."

"Good," he replied as he put the sword back to the scabbard. Without another word, he strolled away as if nothing happened, leaving Freya to herself once more.

She continued to stare at the princess' dying form. Sigyn had stopped moving, but her chest continued to rise and fall, and suddenly, her head turned to the side. Freya froze.

Sigyn was staring right at her.

Freya immediately jerked backwards, and the curtain fell, covering her view. Her heart raced, and she continued to back away until her back met the wall. Her breathing became ragged, and she felt a sickening twist in her stomach. This wasn't supposed to happen, she thought in a panic. She had known Theoric's plan to assassinate the princess from the very beginning. In fact, it was _she_ who was the one who allowed him to.

~o~o~o~

_"The princess has given us orders to leave the premises around the bailey. She wishes to have the remaining hours alone," she had told the other Valkyries._

_"And why would she want to be unguarded when she is most vulnerable?" asked one. "If Prince Loki were here, he would never approve."_

_"Prince Loki is not here," she replied, saying the name like poison in her tongue. "And I think the princess only desires privacy while she prays for his safety, as well as the others."_

_"But—"_

_"I am her mother," she said before another Valkyrie objected. "I still know what is best for my daughter, and I think we should give her the solace that she needs."_

~o~o~o~

"Oh gods, what have I done?"

Sigyn was dying.

Her own daughter was dying.

And it was all _her_ fault.

~o~o~o~

_"Prince Loki, there was a traitor in our midst. Princess Sigyn is—"_

"Then why didn't you defend her, you goddamn imbecile!" he thought out loud, running as fast as he could through the halls of his home, pushing the servants that came across him out of his way, his other leg limping from the injury he had sustained in battle among other wounds. They had just gotten home after winning Asgard's war against Svartalfheim, where all the cursed Dark Elves lived and whom they had thought they had formed a truce with. But as the Norns would have it, the Elves decided to call off the peace, and that foolish decision of theirs only brought them more pain and death than they had thought, and ultimately, they thought wise to surrender to save what was left of their people. And when all the Aesir could think about was the celebration feast waiting for them at home, when all Loki could think about was being greeted with the open arms of his wife, they were greeted instead with most dire news.

He was beyond angry with the Gatekeeper for not taking it upon himself to protect her, but he also knew that Heimdall had sworn to guard the bridge at all times, and he had never left his post once. Loki wasted no time in getting back to the castle, ignoring the frantic calls of his companions as he galloped along the glass bridge from the Bifrost Chamber, and now, he ignored the pleas and the warnings of the servants that tried to stop him from proceeding to the courtyard. Fools, he thought. How can they even think they could stop him when his wife's life was at stake?

But when he had finally arrived at his destination, he had almost wished he had taken his time getting there, because nothing could have prepared him for the horrific sight that displayed itself right in front of him.

There, lying by his father's statue, was his wife, bleeding profusely as she was cradled by Queen Frigga, his mother, who wept over her as several healers and attendants crowded around them, eyes downcast as if they had failed in trying to save the princess' life. But the princess wasn't dead yet, and although weak, Loki immediately saw her chest heaving.

"Idiots!" was the first thing he said as he stomped his way towards them, shoving some of them away before he kneeled before his mother and quickly pulled the princess away from her arms into his own. "She's still alive! Do something!"

Frigga only wept harder, and one of her most loyal attendants got down beside her and comfortingly rubbed her shoulders. Loki didn't like his mother's reaction one bit, nor did he like how none of the healers obeyed him. He opened his mouth to shout another order, but Eir, the finest of their healers, interrupted him just in time.

"The blade that was used was enchanted with dark magic, Your Highness," she said regrettably. "We tried everything."

"No," said Loki. He then looked down on the face of his wife, which was once fair and rosy, now pale and dirty. Her golden hair was now dyed red in her own blood. Her lips were parted, letting out a faint breath. Seeing as Sigyn was still fighting for her life, he refused to give up. "I can save you," he said and stretched out his arm over the gaping wound on her abdomen. "I can save you still, Sigyn."

Spell after spell after spell he tried, even as he grew weaker and weaker himself. His magic glowed over the gash, but still, it didn't close. She still continued to bleed, and the puddle of blood underneath only grew. Some of the healers started to cry as they watched him desperately try to save his wife's life. He felt his heart drop at that instant. It was no use. She was still dying.

He stopped the spells, and did the one thing he could only think of. He pulled her closer to him, and embraced her tightly to his chest as his own tears came streaming.

"Gods, no," he choked, and then he kissed the top of her head. "Don't die, my love. Please."

King Odin finally arrived, along with the others—Prince Thor, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, and all of them were no less than devastated.

"How did this happen? Who would do this?" asked Volstagg of the Warriors Three. Loki's ears perked up as he listened. He had been so caught up in his emotions that he had forgotten to ask something so vital. Volstagg wasn't asking anyone in particular, but one of the Valkyries that stood by the entrance answered.

"It was Theoric, my Lord," said Skuld, one of Odin's most loyal. "He managed to slip past our guard."

"No, he didn't," said another. It was Gunnr, another Valkyrie. "We _let_ him slip. We _saw_ him pass, but we didn't know what he planned."

"And you didn't stop him when you saw him draw his sword?" exclaimed Thor, voice booming threateningly. "What kind of Valkyries are you supposed to be?"

The Valkyries immediately took offense to the prince's words, but knew better than to have a verbal spat.

"Freya was Theoric's accomplice," explained Gondul, and all heads instantly turned to her in shock, save for her sister Valkyries, and then she took the opportunity to narrate everything she knew about the lie Freya made. "She was her mother, she reasoned, and we fatuously believed her."

"Fatuous is right," muttered Lady Sif, until her voice rose. "You should have known better. Freya had always hated her own child!"

"We mean no disrespect, Lady Sif," said another Valkyrie who went by the name Skogul. "But it never dawned upon us that she would turn to murder."

"Where are they now?" said Hogun of the Warriors Three, his stare kept straight towards Loki's back, watching him as he held his lady and fully aware that the prince was listening closely.

All the Valkyries' heads bowed sadly in shame. "I'm afraid they have escaped, my Lord," answered Gunnr. "They have already gone too far. We were too late."

Loki's hold on Sigyn tightened dangerously. He felt his rage boiling inside of him and he was having a hard time trying to contain himself. All he could think about then was hunting Theoric and Freya down and making them suffer a thousand times worse than what they had done to Sigyn. Theoric—Loki should have killed him when he had the chance. Every time the two men would cross paths, both would shoot the other with a glare, and if it weren't for Sigyn, Loki would have thrown a knife right through his neck, and he would savor the moment when Theoric would choke on his own blood. The man should have been grateful for the princess for choosing to spare him, but instead…

Freya—he should have known. Her magic was never to be underestimated, and he had no doubt in his mind that the enchantment embedded in the sword was from her doing. Loki could understand why the Valkyries were fooled. Everyone knew a mother would never have the heart to kill their own child, no matter how she seemed spiteful towards them. Freya was just as much of a monster as Theoric was, and Loki thought people like that deserved an eternity of suffering in Hel, and he would make sure of that.

"Loki."

Everyone gasped as they heard the princess' strained voice, and Loki's anger was quickly forgotten as he was suddenly struck by a beam of hope. He turned to her face, smiled and let out a sigh of relief as he saw her open her eyes. She looked up at him, her frail blue orbs staring into his, and she slowly smiled back. "I guess I do get to see you one last time after all."

Loki instantly frowned upon her words. "Don't speak like that," he told her. "I'll find a way. I swear. Let's get you back to the healing roo—"

"No, Loki," she cut him off, and he felt his heart broke.

She mustered up what was left of her strength and reached for his face, placing a cold hand on his cheek, dirtying it with her own blood, but Loki marveled at the feel of her touch and placed his hand over it, keeping it from falling. She pulled him closer to her, and he leaned in so her lips could reach his ears.

"_Always you will find_," she sang in a raspy whisper, making sure no one could hear but him, "_shadows lingering close behind_."

He finally broke into tears, not caring about the people that watched him. This was all just too much for him to bear.

"_Lift your spirits now_."

"Don't," he begged, gripping her hand tighter. "Please."

"_We shall be together soon_," she finished. "Be strong, Loki."

Loki started to cry harder than he ever had, his tears mingling with red, feeling pathetic as a god, but most of all, as her husband. The idea that he would never be able to see her smile, or stare deeply into her beautiful eyes, or hear her sing, or simply hear her laugh, had always brought him a wave of fear and pain he couldn't imagine. And now, it was all happening, and all he wanted was for it to end. He wanted to die with her, but knew he couldn't.

He held her hand to his lips and kissed the ring on her finger, the ring that symbolized their undying love for one another—her wedding band.

"I love you so very much," he told her for the last time, and amidst all the pain she felt, her smile grew wider.

No longer could she see the beauty of Asgard, no longer could she bask in the love her husband gave her. And yet, she felt an overwhelming sense of tranquility and calm wash over her. And that was when she knew, that was when it had finally sunk in. The spell had taken over. She was going to die.

"My heart is," she said to him, her own tears pouring as she finally felt her life slipping away, "and always will be…yours." And then, her hand went limp under his hold, and the light in her eyes had disappeared. Her heart finally stopped.

"Sigyn?" Loki slightly shook her, but she gave no response. "Sigyn?"

There was a silence for a moment that seemed to last forever, and then Loki felt an incredible amount of dread wash over him, and he was left staring into the lifeless eyes of the only person he had ever loved so passionately.

The quiet was broken by Queen Frigga's sobs as she completely broke down, and the servants and the healers, and some of the Valkyries who failed to keep their stern and icy exterior cried with her. Even Lady Sif followed, as she put a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs with Fandral of the Warriors Three rubbing her back soothingly. Volstagg closed his eyes, bowed his head and started to utter prayers, and Hogun closed his own eyes to join him.

Meanwhile, Thor had absolutely no idea on how to react. He felt sorry for his brother, and he felt grief over Sigyn's death, but he found himself unable to speak for the first time. He turned towards his father, Odin, who hadn't spoken since they arrived. The king only stood there, motionless, but the way he looked at the back of Loki was proof enough that he too, mourned. The king had already known beforehand that Sigyn wouldn't survive her wounds, and he chose not to open his mouth for he also knew that there were no words to be said to offer an assurance of safety, and of comfort.

Princess Sigyn was gone.

"E—eternity…" Loki whispered under his breath, unheard by the people around him. He had always believed that he would spend the rest of eternity with her. He had always believed that he would spend the rest of eternity happy because she belonged to him, and he with her, and yet, there she lied in his arms—cold, unmoving, and so very dead.

And then something inside him snapped.

The rage that boiled within him came rising back, now hotter than ever. His mind reeled uncontrollably as his arms started to quake while he clutched onto her tighter than ever before as if he was threatened that someone else would take her away from him, even though he knew it was already too late for that. But the anger inside him felt like a beast trying so hard to burst from its cage that he actually felt a severe pain in his chest.

Right where his heart lied.

And then, the skies darkened, a swirl of dark clouds came upon them, and all of the Aesir looked up, confused at the sudden change of weather. The winds became heavy enough to blow them off balance, and they jumped at the flash of lightning that struck, followed by the roar of thunder, and it wasn't long until it began to drizzle. But only those who were at the courtyard knew what was really going on.

They watched in fear as Loki's entire being suddenly became enveloped with a bright green light that danced around him like a flame. Fearing for the worst, everyone vacated the area. Frigga was forcibly pulled away by her attendant, despite her struggles and her unwillingness to leave her son, until the only people who were brave enough remained—Odin, Thor, Sif, the Warriors Three, and the Valkyries.

"Loki!" cried Thor, in hopes that he would calm, but Loki didn't move. Instead, the light around him brightened, and they had to shield their eyes, but Thor wasn't one to give up. "Loki!" he cried again, and this time, he unwittingly approached him, ignoring the warnings of his comrades. "Loki," he called once more, this time a lot softer, as he knew his brother heard him. He reached out to touch his shoulder, but before he could even lay a finger, a beam of pure energy shot out from Loki's back, sending him colliding onto a pillar, and his breath hitched when he felt his bones snap.

"THOR!"

Loki carefully settled Sigyn's body into the pavement, and then he slowly stood up before he turned to face them fully.

"Oh, gods…" breathed Fandral as he saw Loki's face. There were parts of his skin that turned into dark green scales, his nails grew into black talons, but what scared them the most were his eyes—wide and formed into slits, exactly like that of a snake's, glowering at them.

"This is it," Gondul said. "Ragnarok!"

Loki hissed at them, baring his teeth that grew into sharp venomous fangs. Fire continued to shoot out from his body, burning the entire courtyard, save for Sigyn's body, somehow remaining untouched by his flames. He had lost all of his self-control, and could no longer determine friend from foe. All he knew was pain, burning inside of him like wildfire, and he would inflict it upon everyone else in return.

"BRACE YOURSELVES!" cried Skuld, readying their weapons and shields. Loki charged at them, his amazing speed matching no other.

_"Be strong, Loki."_

He suddenly broke into a halt just before he could reach them.

"Sigyn…"

Odin took his chance. He stepped right in front of him, and pointed his staff at his own son, and with his famous battle cry, a huge blast shot out.

And then, all Loki saw was darkness.


	3. Chapter One

**CHAPTER ONE**

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><p>Anger radiated from him like a bulb. His arms trembled as he clenched his fists. His lips were drawn and the veins in his head slightly protruded. He could have chosen any place to teleport himself to, but because he had let his rage cloud his mind, he found himself in where he had vowed to himself to never step foot in ever again. He could have teleported away, but as soon as his boots touched the grass and as the familiar scent of dew invaded his nose, it was already too late. The memories instantly came rushing back to him.<p>

His gaze drifted towards the small fountain in the middle of the landscape. It no longer spewed water as it supposed to be as dirt and grime covered the marble. Around him was nothing but dead grass, covered with twigs and dried leaves that fell from the small trees. The shrubs had grown like an old man's beard, the flowers completely wilted.

Despite himself, he finally calmed, his breathing evening as he let out a sigh. No, he thought. His lack of self-control wasn't what brought him here. He had _wanted_ to be here. It was the only place he could think of that could give him solitude, a sense of peace. There was no other place that could grant him that. No, he disagreed with himself again. There was no such place. Not anymore.

He settled himself under a dying tree, one leg bent close to his chest as he started to fiddle with the ring that dangled on his neck by a thin golden chain. It was the very ring that matched the one he wore on his own finger, the very ring he had once slipped into the finger of the woman he had hoped to spend the rest of his life with. And yet now, he found himself as alone as he once was.

He gripped the band, feeling the details dig into his skin, almost enough to draw blood, but he felt no such pain, because it was nothing compared to the pain he harbored inside of him. He had grown numb to everything else. Nothing could equal his pain.

It was a torture he had to bear for centuries. It was a miracle he had gotten this far. It had been so long since his wife's death, but the emotional wounds she had left him never turned to scars nor even dried. The wounds never healed at all.

He was now nothing more but a broken shell of a god.

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to push back the incoming tears, but failed miserably. His tears came like the waterfall as they came streaming down his pale cheeks.

~o~o~o~

"I never thought I would do something so insensitive," contemplated Queen Frigga as she sat in front of her vanity while one of her attendants, Fulla, ran a brush through her golden brown tresses. She frowned upon her own reflection. "This has been a disaster."

"Nonsense, my queen," assured Fulla. "You only did what you thought was best. There is nothing wrong with trying to help."

"But it was insensitive regardless," persisted Frigga. "What kind of mother am I to force her own son to remarry?"

"You only introduced her to him. It didn't mean anything."

"He knew exactly what I was trying to do, and now, I've only driven him farther away from me and he's already quite far for me to reach." Frigga shook her head at herself disappointingly. "Even after all these years, he hasn't forgotten about her."

"Don't fret, your Majesty," comforted Fulla. "Just give him a bit more time."

The queen stared at her through the mirror with an odd expression, and even Fulla, herself, felt that her words weren't carefully chosen. More time, she stupidly said. If her definition of more time meant an eternity, then it would have made more sense.

"Forgive me, your Majesty," she said sincerely, matching the frown on the queen's face.

"It's alright, Fulla," replied Frigga, and then sighed. "There is no blaming him. He and Sigyn were made for each other. Never have I seen a love so pure as theirs. And you know that as the Goddess of Marriage, I have seen so much."

"But the Norns could never allow something so perfect, and pure to exist in this world. They make sure that we will always remember that good things don't last forever," added Fulla.

The queen involuntarily clenched her fists on the table. She hated how cruel the Norns were, and yet she couldn't help but understand that everything they did was for to restore balance to all of Ygdrassil, but she hated how they had affected her son's life even more.

"I really need to offer my apologies," said Frigga.

"You will, my queen. Don't you worry," replied Fulla. "Gna is always on the prowl."

~o~o~o~

He opened his eyes, only to realize that he had fallen asleep, and the bright morning sun had turned to dusk. It would seem the sleepless nights had taken its toll. His face felt dry, and he stood up from his spot and walked over to the fountain. Not caring that the water was contaminated with natural dirt, he used his hands to scoop up some to wash his face, relieving him of the tear stains, until he found himself staring down at his reflection, and he couldn't help but think that he looked absolutely awful.

Although he had managed to keep his hair intact as it had always been, there were dark rings under his eyes and his cheeks had sunk. He had been depriving himself of food too often as well, and it clearly wasn't doing him any favors.

With a heavy sigh, he decided to go back to the castle. He could have teleported himself back, but he chose to take his time.

He passed by the main front in the Place of Arms where most of the Aesir warriors gathered. As he passed the guards, they saluted upon his arrival, and he gave them a slight nod of acknowledgment. And as soon as he finally stepped on the golden stone that made up the floors of his home, his eyes caught a figure, standing in the shadows behind a column, wearing a dark brown cloak that hooded his face—or rather, _her._ He couldn't see why she even bothered. He knew exactly who it was under the cloak, and he frowned, glaring at her, and she immediately hid away from his view, like the rat that she was. Did she actually think she was fooling anyone with her disguise? Even with the several servants moving back and forth around him, he could still pinpoint where she was.

With a huff, he made his way to his chambers.

~o~o~o~

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," said Frigga, and the door immediately opened, revealing a Valkyrie. The female warrior bowed in respect. "What is it, Hlin?"

Hlin cleared her throat as she stood up straight, showing her tall stature, spear firmly standing in her strong grip. "Gna claims of the Princes' return, your Majesty," she said, voice deep for a woman's. Through the mirror, Frigga saw a much smaller woman behind the Valkyrie. The woman then stepped aside and bowed as well.

"D-do f-f-forg-give me, my queen," she stuttered nervously. "But t-the p-p-prince has s-s-seen me."

"That is fine, Gna. Thank you," said Frigga with an assuring smile. "And thank you as well, Hlin. You may leave now."

Hlin and Gna bowed together once more before departing as quickly as they'd come. Frigga let out another sigh, but this time, it was for better reason.

"I couldn't be more grateful to have you, three," she said to Fulla.

"And we couldn't be more grateful to have you, as well, my queen," she replied as she finished grooming the queen's hair. "Will you be seeing your son now, your Majesty?"

The smile on Frigga's face quickly faded, but she nodded nonetheless, strongly hoping that she wouldn't make things worse.

~o~o~o~

Loki's bedroom was one of the largest chambers in the castle—so large, in fact, that he had made a division wherein the half was his actual bedroom, while the other was more like a living room, divided by a large hollow doorway, and everything was of green and gold, from the tapestries to his beddings. It was the epitome of royalty.

And yet, it never felt emptier.

He lied on his couch, eyes blank as they gazed into the ceiling, hands clasped together as they lied on his chest, and if one were to see him in his current position, they'd mostly assume he was already dead. Loki scoffed. He only wished.

His bed was untouched, as it had always been for the past centuries since Sigyn's death. His heart wrenched, and his eyes started to water once more. He could never dare to lie down on that again. It would be too painful. He was afraid that the moment he'd rest his head on the pillows that he would find that her scent had still clung to the sheets even after all these years.

_Knock, knock, knock!_

He sighed exasperatedly and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He knew who it was knocking at his door, and although he was still angry at her, she was still his mother. His first intention was to just beckon her to come in, but decided that it was more appropriate that he would open the door for her.

"Good evening, mother," he greeted without a single tug of his lips, but the aged woman smiled at him brightly, perfectly matching the brightness of her yellow gown embroidered with gems and flowers with a length that made it flow in her wake.

"Good evening, Loki," she greeted back with a nod. Seeing that he had no choice but to let her in, he stepped to the side and gestured for her to come, and she obliged, eyes scanning the room.

"It had been a while since I came here," she started as she made her way to his couch and sat down. "I'm a bit surprised you let me in."

"Of course, I would," replied Loki, still unable to smile as he closed the door and took his own seat on the accent chair across the couch.

They sat in silence for about a few seconds—very, _very_ awkward seconds. Frigga kept on glancing at her son while he avoided her gaze completely, but the awkwardness didn't seem to faze him. He just sat there, legs pressed together as he leaned on his chair. Realizing he wasn't going to make any effort, while her guilt unnerved her to no end, she decided to end it right then and there.

"I apologize for what I did, Loki," she finally said. "I hope you could forgive me."

"I could never find it in myself not to, mother," he replied. "I already have forgotten the whole ordeal." But by the emotionless look on his face, as well as the tone he was using, Frigga wasn't certain if he was telling the truth or not. She sighed. It would have to do.

"I want you to understand that I only did what I did so you could—"

"I said, I do forgive you, mother," he said, and his lips finally tugged, but not in the way she liked. "I think we've finished the discussion at that."

"I know Sigyn's death—"

"Mother!" he finally snapped, making her flinch. He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "Just…enough."

Hearing her name was like a taboo. No one ever spoke of her when he was around. It was the first time in a long while since he heard it pass someone else's lips, and he felt a painful jab just because of it.

She watched him stand up and walk over to the window, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at the view. It reminded her how he pouted when he was still a child whenever he and his brother had a spat, only to find the two playing together again only a few moments later. It was such a long, long time ago. Now, she had to face the fact that things are never that easy anymore, especially now that her sons had grown.

She stood up as well and approached him. She raised her hand to touch him, but hesitated.

"I'm so sorry, my son," she softly said. "I just wished there was something I could do to make it all better."

"There is nothing that could be done," he replied. "So I suggest we cease to talk about it."

She swallowed as she carefully placed a hand on his shoulder, and she inwardly triumphed when he didn't move away. "Will you join us for supper tonight?" she asked. "Your father has a very important announcement and it would be nice if we have the family together." She heard him heave. "Please? Even just for tonight."

There was a moment of pause, and then Loki sighed again. "Yes, mother."

Frigga smiled once more.

~o~o~o~

Thor was quite surprised that Loki was at the table with them at the Great Hall, and it was clear he wasn't the only one who felt that way. The royal family sat at the very end, with King Odin seated at the middle, of course. The Queen sat close beside him, while Thor's usual place at the table was right across her. The second prince should have always been beside the first, but this time, the place beside Thor was unoccupied since Loki had chosen to sit beside their mother, and they knew better than to oppose.

The golden-haired young man glanced over to the part of the table where his friends were. Volstagg was loudly telling tales of his adventures with the rest of the Warriors Three, along with Lady Sif, and the other Aesir who joined them listened closely and laughed once every so often.

There was a very noticeable gap between that group and their family, and Thor already knew why. When the God of Mischief entered the Great Hall that night behind Frigga, the people instantly silenced, until only he finally took his seat and didn't seem to act out of the norm did they relaxed around his presence.

They _feared_ him.

Thor watched him across the table, keeping to himself as always, not speaking, not even looking at anyone or anything but his empty plate. His eyes travelled to Odin, who was speaking with Frigga with council matters—matters that he didn't want to bore himself with, but it seemed it was better than enduring the obvious tension between him and his brother. He still loved him, truly. The only cause of the tension was that Thor didn't _know_ what to say. It disturbed him that he didn't have the same gift of a silver tongue like Loki.

Instead of doing something about it, he just started picking at his dinner utensils as they waited for the servers to arrive with their food.

'_I will talk to him soon,'_ he thought to himself. _'For now, I will enjoy this night.'_ The thing was, he had been saying that to himself for years, but never actually acted upon it.

It wasn't long before the food was finally served, but none of the Aesir touched any of it. Not yet. As Frigga had claimed, tonight was a very important night. Members of the high council were present, as well as Odin's highest-ranking warriors, and the servers treated them as they would have treated the royal family.

When everything had settled, Odin cleared his throat, and stood up from his seat. All of the guests immediately silenced as their king stood before them.

"Beloved Aesir," he greeted, "my brethren."

Thor straightened his back as he looked up at his father in anticipation.

"Tonight, I have gathered all of you to share this feast with me and my beloved family, for this is a feast to be remembered. It will be remembered as the night a new era will be inaugurated—an era that was blessed by the Norns, and of other gods such as myself. I have always thought that my time as your king will come to a close someday, and that time, I fear, is growing near."

Loki tensed, and could feel himself sweating. From the corner of his eyes, he looked at his elder brother, who had a broad grin on his face as he diligently listened to Odin. Loki didn't like where this was headed.

"But never fear, for I have chosen the one who will take my place as king of the nine realms."

'_No…'_

"Thor Odinsson," Odin's voice boomed, "I have chosen you as my heir, for I believe that you have the power to bring peace among the Aesir and all the nine realms," he turned to his people, "Rejoice in the name of the God of Thunder!"

And the Aesir rejoiced, their cheers reaching the skies. But as for Loki, things couldn't get much worse, and he wished he never accepted Frigga's invitation in the first place.


	4. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

><p>Matty Jenkyns sat a bit uncomfortably on the white leather couch, its fabric squeaking every time her skin grazed it, making it sound like she was passing gas. She fixed her red skirt, and then began fidgeting on the buttons on her blue jacket as she tried to keep still as long as she could while she waited for her therapist to start asking questions like she always did. But the doctor hadn't said anything besides her morning greeting, and had been quiet ever since, and all Matty could hear were the disembodied voices whispering in her ear, and the longer they spoke to her, the louder they became, and Matty silently pleaded for them to stop.<p>

She turned her head towards her therapist, wishing she could somehow read her mind like the voices did and sense her distress, but the woman stayed silent, and only sat on the chair across her, cross-legged, narrowed eyes looking downwards at a sheet of paper on the clipboard placed on her lap as if it had offended her in some way.

"Why are you angry at the paper, Dr. Davies?" Matty said, finally breaking the silence.

Dr. Davies' head snapped towards her, and the woman's eyes widened as if she was surprised to see her sitting there at all.

"_Doctor seems to be acting strange, isn't she_?" said one of the voices, and Matty couldn't help but agree.

"_Yes, she has been very strange these past weeks, eh?"_ said another. _"Maybe she has gone as bonkers as you."_

"I'm not angry at the paper, Matty," denied Dr. Davies, lips stretching into a smile that was obviously forced.

"But you were glaring at it," persisted Matty.

"Did you finish the coloring book already?" the doctor just said, changing the subject. Matty was confused.

"You never gave me a coloring book," she replied.

"Yes, I did," said the doctor.

"No, doctor. You didn't."

The therapist gave her a frustrated look, and Matty quickly looked away, flushed. She had never seen the doctor look at her like that before.

"_She looks just like your dear mummy when she looks at you,"_ said another voice.

The woman's eyes drifted towards the coffee table in between them, like she was expecting for the coloring book to appear there, and then she turned back to Matty, and the young girl did her best to avoid her accusing glare.

"_Maybe she is your dear mum after all. Dr. Davies would never look at you like that."_

As Matty's own eyes turned to anywhere but at the therapist, she caught sight of a colorful thin book sitting under the lampshade on top of the coffee table beside the doctor's chair.

Dr. Davies noticed her stationed gaze, and followed the direction the girl was staring at. Finally, she found the coloring book she had thought she had given to her in the first place.

"Oh," said Dr. Davies in a humiliating realization. "I'm so sorry."

"_How could she forget? Dr. Davies never forgets."_

"It's okay, doctor," she said when she was handed the book. "Mum forgets things, too."

"_Yes, just like mummy."_

"_So angry, and so, very, very sad."_

"Like what?" asked the doctor. Matty placed the book on top of the coffee table and sat down on the floor.

"_Like crayons."_

"Like crayons," she replied but regretted it later when she saw the doctor redden. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's alright," said Dr. Davies as she placed the clipboard on the table before standing up to go to her desk.

The paper the doctor was glaring at earlier was in Matty's reach now, and she could very well read what it had said on the top.

'_Wood Green Animal Shelter: Homefinder form'_ it said, written in large bold letters.

"_Who knew the doctor loves animals?"_

"_You love animals too, don't you, Matty?"_

Matty's curiosity got the better of her, and she slid the clipboard closer, and by then, she was able to read the smaller letters below, only to find questions asking for basic information—name, age, birthdate, etc. But still, why Dr. Davies looked angry reading it was beyond her.

And then she noticed one unanswered question.

'_Are you expecting a baby?'_

"Found them," Dr. Davies said, and Matty immediately pushed the clipboard away before the woman turned back around and handed her the box of crayons.

Dr. Davies took the clipboard again and sat back down on her chair. Under her bangs, Matty glanced at the woman, and found her glaring at the paper once again before she abruptly pulled it from the clipboard and put it under the thin stack of sheets that were also attached to it.

"_Why such a sad face, Dr. Davies?"_

"Why are you sad, doctor?" Matty asked as she started coloring a black and white picture of an elephant.

"Why do you ask?" replied Dr. Davies, her voice low and soft as she spoke. "Is that what the voices tell you?"

"_Yes."_

"They do, but I already noticed before they did," Matty replied.

"What makes you think I'm sad?"

"_Looks very much like mummy."_

"You have the same face as mum," explained Matty. "She's always crying at night after she tucks me to bed. She doesn't know I know, though."

"What do you think is making her cry every night?"

"The voices tell me it's because of me. They say she's afraid of me."

"Do _you_ think she's afraid of you?"

"No. I don't think she has any reason to be afraid."

"Why won't you believe what the voices say?"

"They're not always right."

"_Dr. Davies is asking too many questions…"_

"…_and yet, she never answered yours."_

"Do you hear them now?" Dr. Davies asked.

"Yes. They're telling me that you completely avoided my question," Matty's lips tightened when she realized what she had just said, but didn't apologize this time.

"That's because this isn't about me, Matty," the doctor replied. "We're talking about you. _I'm_ the one supposed to be helping _you_."

"_She can't help you if she's mental too, can she?"_

"Even therapists need help sometimes," Matty replied. Not once did she even glance up, never aware of how hard her words struck.

~o~o~o~

Anna Worth tapped her pen repeatedly in a rapid but unstable rhythm, yawning once every ten seconds. Her eyelids felt heavy but were forced to stay open in fear that one of the olds would catch her sleeping on the job again. Working as a receptionist at the Islington Therapy Centre had always been so dull, definitely not the kind of job for someone who sought excitement, but beggars can't be choosers.

Every day she had to endure the hours at the lobby, doing nothing but sit on her computer chair behind the rectangular desk made of cheap sandalwood as she waited for time to pass. In front of her was the waiting area, where a couch and two chairs were neatly arranged around a small coffee table. She didn't know why they even bothered. No one had to wait at the Centre since clients were scarce in that northern part of London.

She tucked a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear before she turned to the clock hanging behind her. It was already noon, which meant…

She heard a door open and close not too far away, followed by a couple of soft steps. And then, a young girl looking like a porcelain doll come to life—pale and tiny, with dead grey eyes and short brown hair topped with an oversize black bow, emerged from the entrance to the long hall of offices right beside her desk.

"Did we do good today, Miss Matty?" Anna cheerily asked her, and the little girl stopped, faced her desk but didn't really looked at her as she had her head bowed, hiding her eyes under her hair.

"Dr. Davies said not to talk about it," Matty replied, voice sounding like a tiny robot, only adding to her dollish features.

"Right," Anna replied nonchalantly, until she brightened again. "So, are your parents going to pick you up?"

"Yes," Matty said. "They're waiting outside."

"Oh!" Anna exclaimed as she realized that she was keeping her. "Well, go along then! Don't want to keep them waiting now, do we?"

The girl nodded before turning towards the door, with Anna following her with her eyes as she was bent over the table, head resting on her hand. When Matty was finally out of sight, Anna sneered.

"Weird little bugger."

She had been seeing the girl come in and out of Dr. Davies' office for almost half a year already. She could still remember how she was before going into treatment. She was absolutely catatonic, and only had herself as her own mate as she was often caught speaking to herself. The parents had almost thought she was possessed.

Anna chuckled at the thought, recalling how Dr. Davies reacted to the parents' belief and how she remarked how _they_ needed counseling as much as their daughter.

But in the end, after a few sessions, she could very well see the improvement in Matty. She wasn't very sure about the parents, though.

"Hey," said a nearby voice, catching her attention.

Her head whipped towards the source, and found a very familiar face standing by the other end of her desk—a woman this time, glaring at her for her recent comment.

"Well, if it isn't Dr. Davies," Anna said, mocking and teasing, but Dr. Davies didn't seem to be fazed, and only looked at her with a blank expression.

"Logbook please?" was the doctor's flat reply. Anna frowned. Here she was, waiting for the time to pass until Dr. Davies, her one and only friend in the Centre, would come out from her office after her sessions to offer what measly amount of amusement that she could get, but apparently, even _she_ couldn't give her that pleasure. But it wasn't always like this. Usually, Dr. Davies would come out with an equally bedeviling reply.

"What's up with you?" she asked, not making any move to do what she was told.

"What makes you think there's something up with me?" Dr. Davies asked back.

"Don't give me that," she spat. "I know what you shrinks do—answering questions with questions."

"I was only thinking about Matty," said Dr. Davies. "For a girl with schizophrenia, she's quite smart for her age."

'_She's changing the subject,'_ Anna thought with a grimace.

"Logbook, Anna?" said Dr. Davies again.

Without another word, Anna slid her chair towards the drawer behind her and took out a large blue notebook. She then slid back to the front and handed it over.

"So what are you up to?" Anna asked as Dr. Davies took out her pen from her breast pocket and signed her name on the notebook. "Got a date with Magnus, I presume? The day is still young."

She saw the doctor's lips curve downwards upon hearing the man's name. "No," she answered. "But I do have plans to go to Wood Green."

Anna looked at her strangely. "Wood Green?" she asked. "The Animal Shelter? You're going to get yourself a dog?"

"Or a cat," replied Dr. Davies. "It depends."

"Why? I never thought you were into pets," which was odd because the two had known each other since the doctor started working in the Centre. Maybe they were not _best_ friends, but friends nonetheless. Their company was the only company they had at work, and they were at work almost every day. Anna had always thought she already knew the woman like the back of her hand.

"Just thought it'd be nice to have a little furball scurrying around the house," said Dr. Davies.

"Oh, so you're getting a rat then."

"Sure," Dr. Davies rolled her eyes. "A rat guarding the house—what a lovely image."

"So, it's a dog."

"Guess so," Dr. Davies shrugged. "Well, I'm off. See you tomorrow." She turned her back on Anna and started towards the door.

"Ronnie?" called Anna before Dr. Davies reached the exit. The doctor looked at her over her shoulder. "Zigni House, yeah?"

Ronnie smiled and nodded over her shoulder. And then, she waved at the receptionist before exiting the building.

~o~o~o~

"I recommend that you try not to approach this like you're going out on a blind date," said the female volunteer who led her through the hall. "Many people go straight for the looks and that's never a good idea. What I recommend is for you to look for a dog that matches your behavior and lifestyle. So, if you prefer a dog that is…"

The woman's voice drowned in the barks, but Ronnie didn't mind. Her voice sounded as if she was trying her hardest to sound appealing, causing her to sound strained and ear-piercingly high-pitched, and the dogs' barks were deafening enough that it made her head ache. Not to mention the environment was extremely depressing.

The caged dogs that lined the seemingly endless corridor never ceased to snarl at her, and she tried her best not to make eye contact as to not aggravate them more than they already were. It was like passing through a prison.

Suddenly, Ronnie stopped in her tracks.

Her attention was caught by another caged dog beside her, but unlike the others, it didn't bark or growl at her at all. Instead, it trembled as it sat down awkwardly, and its head bowed lower the longer she looked as if it was afraid that she would strike it. She noted the information sheet clipped at the top of the caged door.

'_Norwegian Elkhound Mix'_ it said, referring to the breed. Usually it included the dog's name too, but she only found the ID number.

"Oh, are you interested in him?" said the volunteer as she walked back to her after realizing she had been talking non-stop and didn't even realize that there was a six-foot gap between her and the client.

"I think so," Ronnie replied in uncertainty.

The dog wasn't very large in size, but still big enough to be considered threatening. Its coat looked thick—a mix of grey, white and black, a curled tail, triangular ears and a pointed muzzle.

"Elkhounds were bred to hunt," explained the volunteer, "but they have a typically inseparable bond with their masters."

Inseparable bond, Ronnie repeated in her mind—all the more reason to pity the poor animal for being abandoned.

"This guy is one of our new seniors, being ten years of age. He was abused by his previous owner—the poor thing," continued the volunteer with a click of her tongue.

"What kind of temperament does he have?" Ronnie asked.

"This is a dog ready for adventure and is happiest if that adventure takes place outdoors in cold weather," the volunteer explained. "It needs a lot exercise because of its high energy, and if untrained, it tends to pull when on the leash."

Ronnie crouched down, never taking her eyes off the canine in the cage. _'I guess daily walks in the park would do me good,'_ she thought. She didn't need to worry about cold weather, either. It was always cold.

"What's his name?" she asked.

"Oh, he's new we so haven't got to naming him yet, but we already had him neutered," replied the volunteer. "If you'll be taking him home, you get to name him yourself."

That said, Ronnie immediately started thinking of potential names, but stopped herself before she got too deep. Choosing a dog was just the first step of many. She had to go through the processes first before she even got to take the dog home.

"He's also good with ki—"

"I'll take him."


	5. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

><p>The sky was dark in Midgard. The wind howled, and stirred the bone-dry tree leaves that littered the area. He felt the cold air hit his face, but it didn't bother him at all. He liked the cold, and he appreciated the darkness as well.<p>

But he absolutely hated Midgard.

To Loki, it was a pitiful excuse for a realm. He wondered why it was considered a realm in the first place. It was dreadfully filthy, and overall primitive compared to Asgard, exactly like the petty beings that walked the land. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of what they considered as a beautiful promenade, with its stone pavements, shriveled grass, and plentiful withering trees. It reminded him too much of a place back in his homeland, and it did nothing to improve his mood. If anything, it only made him feel worse.

Adding more to his disgust was the fact that he, himself, was dressed in their common Midgardian clothing, which consisted of a black suit and tie—a perfect choice since he wanted to blend in. It was the most usual choice of clothing, he had observed, and most of those who wore these robes tend to have a portable case in hand, but he just settled for the suit.

The mortals were rare at this time, seeing as it was already dusk.

'_That's a shame_,' he thought. He would have certainly enjoyed their screams of terror once he'd done his trick. He wouldn't have to worry about the consequences. Heimdall couldn't see him. The God of Mischief had mastered the art of hiding more than anyone else in all of Yggdrasil. Staying hidden from the all-seeing Gatekeeper of Asgard came as easy as breathing. To add to that, unlike the other realms that were aware of the presence of the God of Mischief and would surely report anything unfortunate as his doing, the Midgardians weren't and wouldn't do such a thing. He despised how ignorant they were, but on the other hand, it worked to his advantage. They wouldn't even know what hit them.

He needed it. He needed something—_anything_ to vent out his frustrations on. Even when he was mostly known to keep to himself, it didn't mean that his pent-up emotions couldn't bring him to insanity.

"…_for I believe that you have the power to bring peace among the Aesir and all the nine realms."_

'_Peace?'_ He gritted his teeth in annoyance, clenching his fists so tightly his nails dug deep in his skin. Was his father blind enough to not see that his son craved for battle—for _war_?

Loki loved Thor dearly, but even _he_ couldn't deny what he really was—a boisterous, pompous brat. His attitude had done them more troubles than good. But then again, Thor had always been Odin's favorite, and no matter how hard Loki worked to gain even an ounce of his attention, he had always been overlooked. His jaw tightened, and then he felt his tears rising once more.

If only Sigyn were here, none of it would have mattered. He wouldn't even care if Odin chose Thor. He wouldn't even care about the good of Asgard. He wouldn't even care if his brother would bring Asgard to its demise because of his arrogance, as long as he had her by his side.

His hand reached towards the ring on his neck, but stopped himself at the last moment and shook his head to rid himself of his thoughts. Instead, he tucked the ring under his suit. _'No,'_ he thought to himself, and then his eyes formed into a menacing glare.

He didn't come all this way to sulk. He was done sulking. Tonight, he will have himself a bit of fun.

~o~o~o~

Ronnie's stomach grumbled. The adoption process had taken her longer than she expected. After spending two hours of up-close-and-personal time with her new pet back at the shelter's yard, she had to go through another couple of hours to be interviewed, fill-up more forms and wait until her dog had gotten all his needed medical care. By the time it was all done, it was already past dinner time, and she hadn't had her lunch yet.

She regretted deciding not to take her car to the shelter, fearing that the dog might soil the backseat, but cleaning up a dog's waste sounded much better compared to starving at that moment. But then, she _could _work the situation to her advantage.

She read somewhere that walking a newly adopted dog was a great way to bond with it. With dog treats in her bag, she decided she would fast for a bit and take her time getting back home.

The Elkhound walked beside her, head bowed, but not from fear this time, but because he kept sniffing the very path he walked on, and would stop every so often and pee on a random patch of grass nearby.

She breathed in the fresh air, feeling more relaxed than she had ever been in the past few days. Perhaps this was what exactly what she needed—a nightly stroll when most people have already gone inside their homes, leaving the streets almost empty, leaving _her_ to enjoy the quiet sounds of nature.

She came upon a forked road, and then she stopped, the dog mimicking her movement. _"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…"_ she began to recite, remembering the poem from her early high school days.

"_And sorry I could not travel both,_

_And be one traveler long I stood,_

_And looked down one as far as I could,_

_To where it bent in the undergrowth."_

To the left was Upper Street—a neighborhood where colorful gardens decorated each home, where laughter and music could be heard even when the sky was dark, where there were kind people who would greet each other like long-time friends despite being complete strangers, and most importantly, where her flat was situated. _"Then took the other as just as fair…"_ she continued.

"_And having perhaps the better claim,_

_Because it was grassy and wanted wear,_

_Though as for that, the passing there_

_Had worn them really about the same."_

To the right, on the other hand, was Canonbury Road. The road was as old as the people who chose to live there, having been there since the 1940s, and just because of that, not many people wanted to be there at all. No one wanted to remember the 1940s. And thus, the streets became quiet and almost desolate. There was no music, not even in the day. It was everything Upper Street wasn't.

She didn't know what came over her that time. All she knew was that her feet had begun to lead her further into the darker path. The dog whimpered as if he had already sensed the dreadfulness of the place, but followed her nonetheless.

"_And both that morning equally lay _

_In leaves no step had trodden black. _

_Oh, I kept the first for another day! _

_Yet knowing how way leads on to way, _

_I doubted if I should ever come back."_

Walking down Canonbury was like a scene straight from a horror movie. There was an eerie silence surrounding her, and the street lamps that served as her only source of light flickered like dying fireflies as they struggled to stay awake.

Soon, she found herself at the very end of the neighborhood where there was a U-turn that led to the opposite direction—the exit from Canonbury that led back to the forked road. But instead of turning to that direction, she stopped as her focus was on the landmark in the middle of the road.

It was a garden of some sort, brightened by the same kind of street lamps, enclosed by a short brick wall and a rusty old gate that anyone could easily pass over, giving her a view of a vast field of dead grass, marred here and there by long-dead trees. There was a pond somewhere in the side, and beside it, a lone man stood, his back facing her.

That very moment, a chill ran passed her, and she had to tighten her coat around her frame and dip her chin deeper into the scarf that slithered around her neck to keep herself warm. The dog whimpered once more, and she had almost forgotten she had him with her, but she felt grateful that she had a companion in such a creepy setting. It was then she finally realized that she had to turn back.

As she turned around, her mind started to create scenarios in her head that have her seeing a ghost that had been haunting Canonbury since the end of the war. It could be worse, she thought. _'I could be mugged…or killed.'_

She mentally slapped herself, and decided to utter the last verse of Frost's poem instead to keep her busy.

"_I shall be telling this with a sigh _

_Somewhere ages and ages hence: _

_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— _

_I took the one less traveled by, _

_And that has made all the diff—"_

_BARK! BARK! BARK!_

She jumped as the Elkhound started barking like mad as he pulled so hard on the leash that she almost lost her balance had she not let the nylon slip from her grip in time, only to regret that action later when the dog started running away from her and headed towards the garden.

"Wait!" she cried, even though she knew that the dog would never understand, and as he ran farther away, she had no choice but to break into a sprint, cursing herself for taking him in the first place. To make things worse, she forgot to give the dog a goddamn name.

"Come back, you mangy mutt!"

~o~o~o~

It had been a while since Loki had done any mischief, and now that he was here, in this dreaded place he had despised so much, he was more than excited to manifest his power once again.

There was a small pond before him. The water was so disgustingly murky that he couldn't see a thing underneath. _'This isn't a pond,'_ he thought with a scrunch of his nose. _'It's a puddle. But nonetheless—"_

It would have to do.

He stared down at the water, and he tingled in anticipation when it started to ripple, and soon, a head of a snake emerged.

_BARK! BARK! BARK!_

"Wait!"

He froze, and the instant he lost his focus, the snake collapsed and melded back with the water.

It wasn't the barks that had jolted him. It was the voice that followed after. It was a voice of a woman, sounding so unearthly familiar.

"Come back, you mangy mutt!"

He felt his heart racing as the voice grew closer. He knew that voice all too well. He turned around, only to have a large and heavy bundle of fur jump and tackle him, and the next thing he knew, he was sent splashing back onto the pond and felt his bottom hit the bed of rocks as his suit was completely doused in muddy water.

The bundle of fur turned out to be a large dog. It frantically lapped at his face as it hovered over him, but Loki shoved it away angrily, causing the dog to yelp in pain. He felt utterly humiliated that a Midgardian mongrel had managed to do such a thing. He was a god for crying out loud! He couldn't be more thankful that Heimdall couldn't see him.

"I'm so sorry!"

His head snapped up and his eyes widened like saucers as he stared at the woman that stood right in front of him.

'_Sigyn?'_

She roughly tugged the dog's leash to pull it from the water yelling "Bad dog!", and as soon as it was out, she turned back to him.

"Let me help you, sir," she told him as she gave him her unoccupied hand, and despite being in sheer bewilderment, he took it, and gasped at the realization that he could actually feel her. And more so when he felt how warm her hand was.

It felt exactly like his wife's.

He let her pull him up until he was back on his feet, but his legs could barely keep him standing.

'_What is this?'_ he thought frantically. _'What is happening?'_

"Hang on," she said, voice shaking nervously as she began to fumble with the small bag that hung on her shoulder. "I have napkins."

Loki couldn't move at all. This was all too much to take in. This is a dream, he kept thinking, or maybe a hallucination, or a ghost, or maybe there was someone sick enough to create an illusion of his dead wife. Whoever it was, he would surely find out and kill him with his bare hands!

"Damn!" she cursed, cutting him from his thoughts. It seemed she couldn't find what she was looking for in her tiny bag. "I can't…" She turned to the strip of wool wrapped around her neck. Quickly, she untied it from her and wrapped it around his neck instead while she used both ends to wipe his face.

He shuddered as her fingers accidentally kept caressing his skin. And then, the next thing he knew, she stopped wiping and was staring right at him, wide eyes looking into his as if she was as surprised as he was, and he couldn't help but stare back, also having the strong urge to pull her into his arms.

Suddenly, the dog was starting to pull on the leash again, whining and barking as it stood on its hind legs in order to add more weight, and the woman stumbled backwards, making her turn her back him.

"Stop it!" she cried as she pulled back, but the dog kept on struggling against his restraint.

Move, Loki told himself. '_Get away before you completely lose your mind!'_

The dog finally calmed, but as the woman turned back around, he was out of sight.

~o~o~o~

Loki had managed to teleport back to Asgard without problem, but he couldn't concentrate hard enough to transport straight into his bedroom. He was still dressed in his Midgardian garb and was still dripping wet, but that was the least of his concerns for the moment.

He found himself trudging on his way back to his chambers, and even found it hard to keep his balance and needed to lean on the walls for support.

The castle was quiet at this time of night, when all of the Aesir that either worked or lived there were either asleep or standing guard outside, much to his relief. He wouldn't have anyone see him in the state he was in.

He stopped in his steps.

His heart was pounding in chest so much it hurt.

He tried to convince himself that it was all unreal, that his grief had taken its toll on him and started to play tricks with his head.

His hand went up to clutch the ring on his neck as a force of habit, but instead, he found that he was gripping onto the scarf the woman had given him. Gasping, he pulled it off, and gaped as he held it, taking in the black and white checkered design.

She had touched him.

And he _felt_ it.

Suddenly, the quaking of his legs had become too much, until he found it completely impossible to stand and fell to his knees.

This is it, he thought, clasping the scarf tightly to his chest. '_I've gone mad_.'


	6. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

><p>Ronnie awoke that morning to the sound of her damned alarm clock, ringing so loudly in her ears that her head pounded. With eyes still tightly shut, she reached for the clock and pressed the snooze button. Her head didn't stop hurting, and she felt as if she was riding a roller coaster. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the walls shifting around her.<p>

Losing the battle to her vertigo, she threw the covers off her and rushed to her bathroom. She managed to reach the toilet just in time to throw up the late dinner she had the previous night. When she was done, she grabbed the toilet paper and used a couple of sheets to wipe her face. She turned her head to the door, and found the Elkhound staring at her. She reached out to pet him, but he scampered away.

For some reason, the way the dog acted reminded her so much of herself.

"_Even therapists need help sometimes."_

She shook the thought away.

'_I'm fine,'_ she thought to herself. _'I can handle this.'_

She proceeded to the sink to wash her face, but first she opened the medicine cabinet and took out a small dose of her medication and downed it dryly. She then gripped the cold stainless steel faucet. Her mind wandered off, until she found herself thinking about her chilling experience at the garden in Canonbury.

At first, all she could think about was how humiliating her predicament was. She couldn't even keep her hands still as she held the scarf to wipe the man's face with. She couldn't even remember why she used the scarf to begin with. Was she expecting the scarf to dry his clothes?

And then she remembered how he looked at her that night—wide green eyes staring at her like a lost child, and she couldn't help but find herself staring back. The man had the most unnatural green eyes she had ever seen—so green it was unsettling.

He also had slick black hair, giving a full view of his almond-shaped eyes, perfectly symmetrical nose, prominent cheekbones, thin lips and ghostly pale skin.

'_Ghostly…'_

She stared at her hand on the faucet, now remembering how cold his skin felt. Even when she barely touched him, those little unintentional caresses were enough for her to feel the chill. It felt like touching ice. Could it be that he was a…

She scoffed at her own thoughts. Of course, he wasn't, she thought. He was soaking wet, of course he was cold!

But what had definitely made a lasting impression on her wasn't just the fact that he was cold, nor how green his eyes were. It was how he suddenly disappeared without a trace during the time when she had her back turned in seconds.

And by then, she pushed away all the confusion and embarrassment, and made it her top priority to get back home as fast as possible.

_Ring, ring, ring!_

"Jesus!" she cried at the sound of her landline ringing from her bedroom. She washed her face as fast as she could before she ran back to her room to answer the call. "Hello?"

"_Ronnie? It's Magnus."_

She let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding.

"Oh…hi," she managed to say.

"_You weren't answering your cell. I was worried sick about you!"_

'_My…cell?'_ she thought as she realized she had completely forgotten about it.

"I'm sorry, I—I was busy," she just replied, but noted that she had to look for it later.

She heard him sigh.

"_I understand. It's just that—God, how long has it been since we last talked?"_

"Two weeks, I think."

"_Two weeks?"_

"We talked about this last time, remember?" She reminded him. "It's not your fault your job demands a lot of time, inspector."

"_Yeah, but…I'm really sorry, Ronnie," _he said, sounding tired.

"It's okay," she assured him. "I'm okay."

"_Well, I'm not."_

"You want to talk about it?" She asked as if he was one of her patients.

"_I—these past few weeks have been hell and you're the only one I can talk to, and I haven't seen you for two weeks because Kurt…"_ He stopped himself before he could get carried away. _"I'm surprised you're still with me."_

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder." She quoted, smiling a bit. "Let's not let those two weeks ruin those two years."

"_You're right," _he said with a light chuckle, and then he sighed again—deeper this time._ "I miss you."_

She swallowed. "I miss you, too."

"_Do you want to go out later?"_

She unwittingly gripped the phone tighter. "I thought you were busy."

"_I think I can manage just one date. I just really want to see you."_

Her lips formed into a tight line. "Okay."

She could actually feel him smile at the other end.

After deciding to meet after work, she hung up first, and for a moment, all she did was stare at the phone, mind blank and racing at the same time. She took a deep breath before she put the phone back down. And then, she suddenly had the urge to vomit again.

~o~o~o~

It was still early in the morning—too early, in fact. The Centre wasn't open yet, but both Anna and Ronnie have made a daily routine of having breakfast at the nearby diner before going to work—Zigni House, as Anna had said. They sat at their usual booth in the corner, preferring to sit by themselves rather than on the counter where the server had the tendency to sneeze at his customers' plates.

"So, I went to Canonbury yesterday," Ronnie said out of the blue in an attempt to start a conversation. Anna almost choked on her French toast.

"What?" Anna said in disbelief. "What the bloody hell were you doing in Canonbury?"

"I was walking my dog."

"You got a dog?" Anna exclaimed too loudly for Ronnie's liking as her voice was loud enough to reverberate throughout the whole diner. It was a good thing they were the only ones there.

"I told you that yesterday," Ronnie pointed out with a raised brow.

"Yeah, but—Jesus, Ronnie! What is wrong with you these days?"

"There's nothing wrong," Ronnie said, confused as to why Anna would make such a big deal on such a small matter. "Anna, I was just crossing a road."

"You were crossing _Canonbury_," Anna pressed. "You know what they say about that place. I also remember hearing you say that it reminded you of everything bad in the world."

Ronnie scoffed. "Why would I say that? It's just a street," she said, looking down on her plate and began cutting her toast into smaller and smaller pieces for no apparent reason.

"Whatever," Anna just said with a shake of her head, taking a sip of her coffee. "So what's his name?"

The first thing Ronnie thought of by hearing the word 'his' was the man at the garden.

"Who's name?"

"The dog," Anna said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh," Ronnie replied, feeling silly, especially when she realized that she had forgotten to name the dog yet again. "He doesn't have one yet."

"You forgot to name the dog?" Anna looked at her incredulously.

"I didn't," Ronnie lied. "I just haven't thought of anything."

"That's good. You're not attached to it yet. So, you can take it back while you still can."

"I'm not taking him back," Ronnie said, glaring at her. "Why would I do that?"

"Do you even know how to take care of it?" Anna asked, looking unconvinced.

"Of course, I do!" Ronnie said. "It's a dog, not a bab—baby."

"You need a break," Anna suggested. "You're really acting weird and I don't know if it's because of your job or—are mental illnesses contagious?"

"Well, some do get it from genetics."

"I was telling a joke," Anna deadpanned. Ronnie flushed.

"I'm fine, alright?" Ronnie said, a little irritated. She was getting tired of saying it. "And don't worry about me having a break. I have a date later."

That seemed to have made Anna forget the whole ordeal, because the next thing, a broad mischievous grin displayed itself upon her face.

"Oh?" she teased. "And I thought Magnus forgot all about you."

"You know how his job is."

"You, guys, should just live together, you know?" Anna suggested like it was that simple.

"Anna—"

"I'm serious," Anna said. "I'm surprised you, two, are still together despite not seeing each other."

"Our relationship is deeper than you think," Ronnie said.

"Hopefully," Anna remarked. "If I were you, I'd never let that man go."

"Hopefully," Ronnie agreed with a nod and a small sheepish grin. She had almost forgotten how charming Magnus could be even when he could be awkward at times. With his gorgeous blonde waves, bright blue eyes, chiseled features, naturally tanned skin, along with the tendency that he could transform from someone really sweet and thoughtful to ballsy and tenacious, he could be every woman's dream. She blushed from just thinking about him.

"It's a good thing you have something that'd brighten your day later, since you're going to need it."

"Why?"

"You'll be handling George Rintoul's boy today."

The smile on Ronnie's face instantly vanished.

"Wait—what?" she asked. "I thought I have Mr. Plumptre and Mr. Vaughn today."

"Them _and_ Rintoul," Anna explained. "Mr. Rintoul called yesterday, asking to move his son's appointment because he said that they'd go on a little trip this weekend for a family reunion or something of the sort."

"When was this?"

"Yesterday," Anna answered. "You would have known if only you answered your cell. Mr. Rintoul tried calling you, but you didn't answer. So, he called me instead. I tried calling you loads of times as well."

"Right," said Ronnie, sighing as she pressed her fingers to her temple, mentally cursing herself for forgetting it again. "My phone."

"Why?" Anna asked. "Did you lose it?"

"Yeah. I think."

"You _think_ you lost your phone?"

"I misplaced it," Ronnie admitted. Anna laughed at her.

"Damn, you really need that date."

~o~o~o~

Anna was back at her station once again, much to her displeasure. _'The bills aren't going to pay themselves,'_ she always thought as a motivation.

The door opened, and in came the one and only, Rintoul's boy himself, Oakley, looking as dish as ever as he stood. He wasn't that tall but he wasn't that short either. He had curly blonde hair that perfectly complimented his tan. He wore a grey shirt that showed his lean and flat-muscled build, and faded jeans, and also a pair of dark sunglasses which covered his face like a mask.

"Look at what the cat dragged in," greeted Anna. Oakley smirked at her as she removed his shades, showing off his blue-gray orbs. Anna almost swooned. "Try not to give her a hard time again, will you? I think something's up with her."

"What's that?" he asked. He approached her and leaned his elbow on her desk.

"I don't know, but she's acting a little weird these days."

"And I should care because…?"

Anna rolled her eyes and playfully gave him a slap on the shoulder. "Just go."

Oakley only chuckled and went on his way.

~o~o~o~

There was a reason why Ronnie wasn't very keen on meeting the Rintoul boy.

George Rintoul was a very wealthy man who managed his own wine company. His company has made wine under contract with several prestigious wineries around the continent, but apparently, his business had taken his time to actually kick back and relax with a glass of wine of his own, and more so, had him from bonding with his own son, which resulted in creating a rift between the two, which then led to appalling rows, and in the end, George was done with dealing with his rebellious teenaged son and hired a specialist to do it in his stead.

That was the problem, she thought, he's forcing him into therapy. Any therapist would find it rather difficult to help someone who was resistant to treatment. '_The only time you can force a person into treatment is when they are a danger to themselves or to others,' _she once read.

Not only that. George Rintoul has mistaken a therapist's job to that of a babysitter. His boy didn't need therapy. He needed his father's love, especially after the death of his mother at a very young age, and despite being one of the wealthiest men in the country, he couldn't even give that to his one and only son.

As a result, Oakley had become this raging boy who resorted to antagonizing his father by drinking, partying, and getting high, since it was the only way he could get his attention. But now that his father was done trying to knock some sense into him, poor Ronnie was sent to the receiving end of the boy's wrath. He wasn't physically dangerous, but he always knew what to say to piss somebody off.

As soon as the Rintoul boy came barging—literally, barging—into her office, she already knew she was going to have a hard time with him, as usual.

Oakley made himself comfortable by lying on the couch, not even caring that his shoes dirtied the leather. She knew that he knew how Ronnie liked everything tidied up. But, as always, she would act as if nothing he did bothered her and just get on to business.

"So, what brings you in today?" she started.

"Piss off."

She sighed. _'This is going to be a long day.'_

~o~o~o~

Night fell in the city of London. Unlike Ronnie's last walk outside after the sun had set, the entire city was perfectly illuminated in all corners, and the streets were as lively as ever, with the deafening voices of the crowds, blinding neon lights, and suffocating vehicle fumes—the kind of environment she'd never find in northern London.

Just as Magnus had promised, he had picked her up from the Centre. Seeing him again after a while really did manage to brighten her day. The time spent with him made her realize that she really did miss him after more than a week of not seeing each other. Anna was right, she thought. She _did_ need this date.

They had a short stroll at Hyde Park, but once they noticed the growing number of people, they decided to watch an old movie in the nearest theater, but neither of them could remember what it was all about. Apparently, they were too engrossed in each other's company to pay attention. By the time the movie finished, they came out the cinema with their lips noticeably swollen, their hairs ill-kempt, and Magnus' shirt ended up wrongly buttoned.

But for tonight, they chose to have a quiet dinner at Waltons, one of the fanciest restaurants in the city. It was small and intimate with a chic yellow and gray motif for a sophisticated clientele, and was known to serve the best kind of wine.

"I really had a great time tonight, Magnus," said Ronnie. She caressed his arm lovingly as they sat across each other on the table.

"Aren't you supposed to say that _after_ the date?" he replied with a slight chuckle as he linked their hands, and she couldn't help but notice him shaking a bit.

Their food was serve moments later, both presented with purse-shaped pancake filled with salmon and onions coated with watercress sauce, accompanied with a bottle of red wine. They ate their dinner in silence. And as soon as they were finished, Magnus cleared his throat.

"Listen," he started, linking their hands once more. "There has been something that I've been meaning to ask you for some time now."

Ronnie froze, feeling a rush of dread pass her.

"I know this is the worst time to ask this, but the weeks I spent without you made me realize something," he continued. "We've both been together for two years now, and prior to that, we've been such good friends. And I don't know about you, but for me, I have had enough time to know that you're the woman that I can see myself spending the rest of my life with."

He then withdrew his trembling hand away from her, and took out a black velvet box from his pocket. And she gasped as he opened it, showing a platinum band that twisted around the top to encase a small white diamond that glimmered under the fluorescence.

She had never thought that something so simple could be one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

"Magnus—"

"I know a proposal over dinner is a little too traditional but you know that things like these aren't my strongest point."

She didn't say anything—couldn't. Her breath was stuck in her throat. _'This isn't happening,'_ she kept thinking, silently pleading.

But it was.

"So, Veronica Davis," he said, grinning widely, "will you marry me?"

She didn't answer. All she did then was stare at the ring—pale and sweating, unable to think and unable to breathe.

"Wow, this is really a shock to you, isn't it?" said Magnus upon seeing her reaction. He laughed lightly, but it did nothing to calm his own nerves as his hand kept quaking as he held the small box.

"I—umm..." she stuttered, trying so very hard to come up with words. She took a deep breath, blinked and started again. "I'm…not ready."

His face fell, and at that instant, she felt the pang of guilt pierce painfully through her gut.

"Why?" he asked in disbelief, making sure his voice was low enough as to not draw attention. "What's wrong?"

"I need you to understand that this is a really big deal for me," she reasoned.

"I understand that perfectly," Magnus replied, "because this really _is_ a big deal for me too, or anyone for that matter. Ronnie, don't you feel how I feel?"

"Of course, I do!"

"Then why is it so hard for you to say 'yes'?" he asked. She shook her head, wishing they were in some place a lot more private, wishing he would stop asking so many questions.

She looked down on her empty dish, trying her hardest to avoid the look on Magnus' face. She knew that look—the downturned lip, the pushed-up chin, the wide glazed eyes. It was the kind of look that could make anyone melt—the very kind that she wanted to wipe off his face but could never find it in her heart to do so. She sighed.

"I'm not saying that I don't want to marry you. I do, believe me," she said, and finally looked up. "But I just need…more time."

She really _hated _that look on Magnus' face.

It was at times like these that she cursed knowing too much about human behavior.

She saw _everything_—the shock, the disappointment…

Heartbreak.

She felt suffocated, both figuratively and literally.

"Ronnie?"

She saw his lips move, but couldn't hear his voice.

Her surroundings started getting dimmer, and the voices of the people chatting sounded so far away. Her head felt like it was filled with nothing but air as the blood rushed from it all the way down to her feet. She couldn't even feel the grip he had on her arm as he tried to shake her back into reality. Everything slowed down. Everything blotted out and nothing mattered to her anymore.

And then, she was falling.

"RONNIE!"


	7. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

><p>Queen Frigga stood on her balcony, hands clasped together as if in prayer as she gazed upon the entirety of Asgard. The breeze that brushed through her was cool and fluid. The sun shone upon them all, its light perfectly maintaining the balance between the warm and the cold. The kingdom was at its most peaceful, and yet she couldn't find any peace within herself, and it is because of this that she couldn't indulge herself in the relaxation that her attendants offered to ease her pain.<p>

"Fulla," she called, and the woman immediately emerged behind her.

"What is it, my queen?" answered Fulla.

"Has Gna have any news about Loki?" Frigga asked.

"Only that he has been spending more time within the castle walls—in his study, to be exact. It had been many days since he was last seen leaving his chambers. But he _does_ go to the kitchens to sustain himself once in a while."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, your Majesty," assured the attendant.

But still, Frigga's heart ached in worry, and even with the queen's back facing her, Fulla could still tell that she was troubled, but no matter how much she wanted to know why, she chose not to press the matter. She knew that even when she was Frigga's confidant, the queen still had secrets she had to keep to herself, and she respected that fully.

If only she knew how deeply distraught the queen really was.

"I can't see him" was what she wanted to say to Fulla all along, but it could never be that simple.

Frigga was one of the goddesses gifted with the ability to see the future, and because of that, like all the others, she had taken an oath to never speak of her visions until it has already passed. But the problem was, she didn't have visions anymore—specifically, visions of Loki's future. It all began during the night of Odin's announcement, and she immediately feared for the worst.

Death.

She had foreseen death before. In fact, she had foreseen the princess' death. She had seen her dying in her son's arms before it even transpired. And as much as she wanted to stop it, she knew she couldn't. There was no defying Fate, no matter how painful it was not to.

And so, the mystery behind her missing visions remained unsolved, and although she was already expecting her son's demise, there was still no explanation why she couldn't see it. It puzzled her to no end.

And it was most unfortunate that it wasn't the only reason why she worried for him.

~o~o~o~

_Thor's metal boots clanked at every step he took as he walked through the halls on his way to his brother's study._

"You should take this chance to speak with him, Thor,"_ Lady Sif had told him. _"No more delaying tactics. I know your brother needs you as much as you need him."

_And he couldn't help but admit that the woman was right. _

"Loki hasn't left his chambers for days,"_ Volstagg had added. _"Take the opportunity before he scurries away again!"

_And he will._

_But as he arrived in his brother's study, he was taken aback at the complete mess of thousands of books and scrolls laid out at his brother's table; some were left scattered on the floor as well. And amidst of all that, his brother was fast asleep, his head resting on the table while he remained seated on his chair. Despite the muddle and his uncomfortable position, his brother looked at peace for the first time in a long while._

_Thor would have been appeased, had he not happen to lay his eyes on one of the many books his brother seemed so engrossed on. _

'The Resurrection of the Dead, and Eternal Judgment,'_ it read. _

_He turned to another._

'The Nature of Reincarnation'

_And then another._

'Death and Reincarnation'

_And another._

'A Rite of Capture to Resurrect the Dead'

_Thor paled. All this time they had all thought that his brother was finally recuperating from his heartbreak, but in actuality, his heartbreak had finally led him into the brink of insanity._

~o~o~o~

'_What does this all mean?_' she thought deeply. Her missing visions, Loki's unusual behavior—everything about it rattled her so much she found it hard to sleep at night. And while she was busy distressing herself with those matters, Odin went by as if nothing was wrong, not even when he had seen how shaken Thor was when he had told them of his discovery. But, she was told by her scout that Odin had been spending a lot of time at the Oratory, the castle's place of prayer.

He knew something, she thought. He knew _everything._ And the fact that he hadn't told her anything about the matter frustrated her.

She turned to Fulla, fists clenched at her sides and a determined look on her face.

"I need to speak with the king."

~o~o~o~

As she walked into the Throne Room, she could already feel the immense power emanating from the throne itself as it sat at the top of the dais, only adding to its superiority. It was the largest room in the entire castle as it was not only used for the king to attend to his people that needed his audience, but also to hold the grandest of Asgardian celebrations.

Odin was seated on his throne of gold, with two of his Aesir soldiers standing guard on both sides, when Frigga arrived.

"Odin," she called for his attention. "I require your audience immediately."

She looked straight at him, dead in the eye, and he did the same. And to her surprise, he stood up from his chair and climbed down the high dais. She was actually expecting him to make an excuse.

"Come with me," was all he said to her as he offered her his arm, and she took it almost immediately.

He then led her along to the seemingly endless halls, lit torches guiding their way, and servants bowing as they passed them by. And then, they had come upon a large grand door with Odin's symbol, the three interlacing triangles, carved upon it. He opened it with a light tap of his staff, and then, the Oratory presented itself before them.

It was a large circular room where golden statues of the gods were displayed all around, and in the middle of it all stood the statue of the Norns, the three most powerful beings who ruled the destinies of all the gods and mortals: Wyrd, Verdandi, and Skuld.

As they walked further inside, the door slowly closed behind them.

"Why did you bring me here?" asked Frigga, more confused than before. Odin slowly withdrew his arm from hers and approached the Norns.

"I think it is time you know of the truth," he said.

"The truth?" she carefully neared him, ears perked up in interest, "About what?"

There was a pause, but still, she waited patiently for him to continue, until he turned around once more to face her. Her heart lurched, and she placed a hand over her chest, clutching the fabric of her dress upon seeing the pain-filled expression etched on his face, something she had never seen on him for such a long time.

~o~o~o~

Loki's jaw dropped as he watched his brother destroy his library. He flipped the chairs and the tables where he had placed the scrolls that had most interest him, as well as destroyed the shelves that housed his many other books with the strength of his blasted hammer. Bits of wood and paper were strewn out everywhere. The room was in absolute ruins.

"What have you done?" He cried out, staring at his brother wide-eyed in confusion and anger. He had just gone out for a while to eat, and prepare himself further for the other documents he has yet to read, but when he had returned, those documents had been turned to shreds.

Thor stood in the middle of it all, and he turned to Loki.

"You will thank me for this, brother," he said, his hammer pointing to Loki.

"Thank you for destroying my hard work?" Loki exclaimed in disbelief. He then started to pick up the very few pages that were still whole. He could just use his magic to remedy it all at once, but he knew Thor would just destroy everything again. "You've gone mad!"

"Have I?" Thor spat through gritted teeth. "I'm not the one looking for ways to bring back the dead!"

Loki froze for a moment, and by that reaction alone, Thor knew he was guilty of his accusation.

"What I study does not concern you, brother," Loki simply replied as he continued to search, but Thor wouldn't have that. In lightning speed, Thor lunged at him, grabbed him by his collar with one hand and slammed him to the wall, making him drop the pages he had gathered. Loki winced at the impact.

"I will not let you go deeper into this madness!" Thor bellowed, his grip on his collar tightening, "This has to stop!"

Loki glared at him. "No," he choked.

"After all these years, why do you still mourn?" Thor asked, despite knowing the effect his words had on Loki. "Nothing will ever bring Sigyn back!"

"NO!"

Before Thor could register what was happening, he was sent flying across the room until his back met the wall harder than he did to Loki, leaving a crater. He fell to his knees, hissing in pain.

Loki's fists glowed with magic, eyes blazing with fury. Thor may be right that he was insane. For days, all he could ever think about was the woman in Midgard. He had almost come to terms that it was a mere mortal who resembled his wife, but the resemblance was just too uncanny to ignore. Thor can call him mad all he wanted, but nothing will stop Loki from finding out the whole truth.

Thor got up once more, and tightened his hold on Mjolnir. Fine then, he thought. If his brother wanted a fight—

"Stop!"

Their mother's voice echoed through the whole room. They both turned at the same time to the doorway where she stood, eyes narrowed at her sons.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves," she scolded them. "You're acting like children!"

The two men finally calmed, and bowed their heads, refusing to look at the other. Thor had put Mjolnir back into its holster while the glow in Loki's hands dissipated.

"Forgive us, mother," said Loki as he faced her, raising his chin arrogantly. "It just seems that some of us are too nosy for their own good."

Thor opened his mouth and was about to retort, but Frigga immediately shushed him before he could.

"Thor, dear," she told him, her voice turning soft, "will you please leave us alone for the moment? I need to have words with your brother."

Thor glared at his brother first, and then turned back to Frigga before he nodded, "Yes, mother."

With that said, he walked out of the room, but not before he looked at his brother one more time, but this time, his stare was more pitiful than angry, and Loki refused to meet his gaze.

As soon as they were left alone, Loki let out a sigh and walked towards the large table where he was used to reading at. With ease, he carried its weight and set it upright. He saw Frigga picking up pieces of paper from the floor.

"There is no need to trouble yourself, mother," he told her. "I can clean this up by myself."

"There is nothing wrong with letting the people who love you help you, my son," she replied.

Loki fell silent in thought. There was no doubt that his mother, as well as his father, knew of his once secret field of study. If Thor knew, then they all did. He had no need to hide it anymore. What worried him was that they would react the same way his brother did, only a lot less violent, and that they will take away his chances from finding out the truth, and even more so if he told them of his recent discovery in Midgard.

He continued to fix his broken sanctuary, still not uttering a single word. After lifting the table, he held out one hand, pointing to the rest of the mess his brother had created. He uttered the spell in his mind, and his hand glowed once again, but this time for the intent of recreation. Frigga watched in awe as his magic weaved what was once broken. The chairs moved on their own and stood upright as they should be. The shelves reassembled themselves until there was not a piece of wood left astray in the heap. And the crater his brother left on the wall mended itself, leaving no cracks. Lastly, the scrolls and the books circled them like a whirlwind. The papers she held slipped from her hold and flew, and one by one, they were put back into their shelves, and those that were shredded were made whole again. It amazed her that he had done all that without a struggle, and with one hand no less. She had almost forgotten how gifted he was.

"What is that you wanted to talk to me about, mother?" he asked her, his tone as cold as ice, breaking her from her reverie.

Slowly, she approached him, and placed a hand on his arm in comfort, knowing he was wary of her. "Dear Loki," she said, "you know all your father and I want for you is to be happy."

He almost glared at her, but managed to stop himself in time. She meant well, he thought, just let her words fall on deaf ears. But that was easier said than done.

"I know her death has been so hard for you," she continued, and he cringed. 'Hard' was such a small word to describe how he really felt. "And we are worried that your grief has clouded your judgment in perceiving things." The frown on his face worsened, and he looked away, but Frigga wouldn't have it. Gently, she cupped his cheek, and ever so carefully, she forced him to look back at her. "But know this, Loki," she added, "the heart has the ability to feel things that the eyes cannot see, and knows what the mind cannot understand. The best thing you can do is follow your heart. Know that everything happens for a reason."

His expression remained passive. And then, he managed to gently slip from her grasp, and walked over to the shelves, pretending to look for a certain scroll.

"I will leave you alone to your thoughts," she said, and walked out of the room, the length of her dress trailing behind her.

Loki just stared hard at the books, not really paying attention to any of them. His mother's words replayed in his head. Did she know? There was a possibility, he thought.

"_The best thing you can do is follow your heart."_

He sneered. His heart was the problem. It was the reason why he couldn't let go of Sigyn.

Loki froze.

"…_follow your heart."_

Was that what his mother was trying to tell him? To keep believing that there was a chance that his wife might be alive?

He might be reading into his mother's words wrongly, but he couldn't think of another, better explanation. Loki had an open mind. It was necessary for one to become a great sorcerer. And it is because of this open mind that he couldn't let go of the possibilities, no matter how bizarre they were.

"…_knows what the mind cannot understand."_

The concept of resurrection and reincarnation, he immediately thought. He began to pace around his study. One of his most relevant clues was the tale of Helgi and Sigrun.

'…_Sigrun was early dead of sorrow and grief by the death of his lover. It was believed in olden times that people were born again, but that is now called old wives' folly. Of Helgi and Sigrun it is said that they were born again,'_ he had read, and he couldn't help but think their story as similar to his and Sigyn's. If he wasn't a god, surely he would have died the same way Sigrun did.

He shook his head, relieving him from his thoughts. There was no time to mope. He had to keep thinking.

Loki believed that most myths weren't born unless they have truly happened, but as time will come to pass, and as the races became more arrogant and believed what only their eyes could see, that is when the myth becomes just that, a fiction. So there was also the potential that the tale between the two lovers was true.

"…_ability to feel things that the eyes cannot see…"_

It was becoming more sensible as each second passed while he thought it through, until he had come to the point that he was tired of trying to deduce all these things just by scriptures alone.

He pulled out a chair and sat, placing his elbows on the table, his brows furrowed in deep concentration. He was done formulating the hypotheses. He was done guessing. He needed to act now. He needed to know the truth about that woman.

He closed his eyes. He could still clearly remember what her voice sounded like. He never forgot a voice.

_"Let me help you, sir."_

In his mind, he saw her face—his wife.

_"Loki!"_

She was smiling at him.

_"I love you, Loki."_

He smiled back at her, but when he opened his eyes again, she was gone. His hand brushed against his cheek, only to realize that he was crying again. He quickly wiped his face with his sleeve. No. There was no time for this. He needed to plan for his next move.


	8. Chapter Six

**CHAPTER SIX**

* * *

><p>"<em>Ronnie, it's Anna. I know you don't want to talk to anybody at the moment, but I just want to let you know that I'm here. Okay. Bye."<em>

BEEP!

"_Hi, Ronnie. Anna again. Just calling to check up on you. I see you're still not answering your phone. That's alright. I'll give you more time. Well…that's all."_

BEEP!

"_Anna here. Listen, Ronnie. It would really help if you just talk to someone. I know it's hard, but it really does. You should know that."_

BEEP!

"_Ronnie…I don't know what to say anymore. I just hope you're doing alright. Bye."_

The messages from her answering machine came as nothing but murmurs to her. Still, she was tempted to just tear off the connection. Instead, she tried to indulge herself in _The Count of Monte Cristo_, a book that had remained untouched and unopened in her shelf for years. She remembered reading it the first time, and although she couldn't remember the plot, she could still recall that she didn't like it at all. But she needed something to keep her busy, and reading seemed to be the best choice. The only problem was that there weren't a lot of novels in her collection of books, and she already had grown tired of the rest of them. And now, as she sat on the couch in her living room, the foxing pages of _The Count of Monte Cristo_ fell open in her hands, the faint musty smell of old paper touching her nostrils.

But she didn't even get to a full hour before the words had gone empty as she read them. She didn't know what was going on anymore. Instead, she found herself staring at the hound lying not too far away from her, curled up on the carpet in front of the fireplace. His only show of movement was his travelling gaze and the rising and falling of his torso as he breathed.

"Fenrir," she called him, and the only response she got in return was the perking of his ears. She frowned. _'High energy, my arse,' _she thought bitterly, recalling the volunteer's words at the shelter. Ever since the incident at Canonbury, Fenrir was anything but energetic. All the dog did was lie down, and eat when it was time. The most active he could get was when he needed to take a piss outside. _'Well, she _did _mention that he was a senior.'_

"Fenrir," she called him again, this time accompanied by the clicking of her tongue, but alas, the Elkhound made no move.

She didn't know why she was calling him in the first place actually. She just wanted something to do to pass the time. It was only shortly past noon. This was one of the reasons why she _hated_ weekends. There was nothing to do, nothing she could busy herself with, nothing to distract her.

'_Perhaps another shower,'_ she thought even though it was only a few hours since her last one. She closed the book and placed it on the side table.

She made her way to the bath and wasted no time in stripping her tank top off her, and at that instant, she felt a brush of coldness passed her stomach. She stopped for a moment, and found herself staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her mind went blank, and her hand unwittingly travelled to the middle of her belly, tracing the large, brown, jagged line that made up the birthmark she grew to be so ashamed of.

'_No. No more showers.'_

"No more showers.'

'_You need fresh air.'_

"Fresh air."

'_How about a walk at the park?'_

"At…the park?"

~o~o~o~

The weather was absolutely gloomy when she had gone outside that afternoon. The sun was hidden by the sullen clouds that breathed over the city, the breeze as cold as ever as the scent of autumn lingered in the air.

Canonbury looked a lot better in the day. Unlike before, she could now see the many different shades of golden hues that colored the leaves that fell from the balding trees, scattering all around the grass, and the broken cemented pavements.

It wasn't as deserted as she had thought. There was a child not too far from where she was, his laughter ringing out as he jumped on a heaped pile of discarded leaves. And then, she saw a pair of lovers walking hand in hand, oblivious to the sound of crunching leaves underneath their feet as they made their way to the trodden path.

And there she was, standing, wondering how the bloody hell she got there in the first place.

'_What is happening to me?'_ she thought in panic, eyes wide as she stared down at the very same pond where the strange man had fallen. It wasn't as clear as crystal, but the trees were mirrored perfectly on the surface, and as the pond rippled, it was like they took on a life of their own and started dancing.

She took out her hand that was buried deep in her pocket and only then did she notice how badly she was shaking, and she knew it wasn't because of the cold.

Even in her state, her mind still worked, trying so hard to analyze the situation. Had she blacked out? That seemed to be the most logical explanation. But it irked her because that was something that hadn't happened before. _'Maybe I hit my head pretty hard when I collapsed,'_ she thought, but then again, if she did, the doctor should have told her that, and all he had told her was that she was fine.

'_He's wrong. I may have had a concussion. It's the only explanation.'_

It had all been a blur to her. For a second, she was in her bathroom, and then it felt as if some kind of force had pulled her to this place.

She could have just left. She could have just walked away. But no. She stayed there, as still as a statue as she gazed upon her reflection in the water.

Suddenly, there was a nagging feeling inside her—a gnawing in the back of her mind, an itch in between her shoulders.

'_Someone's watching me.'_

She heard the sudden ruffling of bushes from behind her, but she didn't dare turn around. Instead, she turned her head to the sides, only to find that the child and the couple had gone. There was no more laughter, and no more footsteps. Just the wind wailing between distorted trunks, carrying the sickly stink of wood rot.

She was alone again.

'_Okay,'_ she thought. _'I just need to relax first. Or maybe, I should call the police.'_

But she shook her head to banish the idea. If she called the police, it would mean calling Magnus. And talking to Magnus was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment.

'_Or I could always call Anna,'_ she settled, and then she reached for her phone at her jeans pocket.

But her phone wasn't there.

She paled, and mentally cursed herself repeatedly for forgetting the fact that her phone was still missing.

'_You're an idiot, Ronnie!'_

She closed her eyes, telling herself to calm down. She was getting a little too worked up, she thought. She then inhaled deeply, and let out a shaky breath.

But when she opened her eyes again, her reflection in the water was gone, and right before her eyes was an image most abominable. Her face contorted in absolute horror.

A girl—dressed in a dark and tattered cloth, her hair rippled in dark, thick waves, resembling the death of the night, her face divided in two as if two different people were sewn together. One half was pale, the other blue, patterned with tattoos that looked as if they were branded onto her skin like what farmers did to cattle. One eye was the color of darkness, while the other the color of blood, but both were as empty as the nothingness from which she came.

Ronnie could have sworn her heart stopped. She couldn't move. She couldn't scream. All she could do was watch even when the image began to move by itself as it looked at her dead in the eyes, her hand raising with an open palm as if she was trying to reach her.

And then, she felt a hand place itself on her shoulder.

And only then did she found the strength to scream.

"AAAAAAAH—mmph!"

A hand clasped down her lips, preventing any more sound from escaping. She slapped the hand away and she turned around in one swift move, shoving the assailant. At first, all she saw was a black suit and tie, but when she finally looked up at the face of her supposed offender, she found herself staring back at the very same green eyes that had managed to entrance her several nights ago, the very same that had bored into hers in shock and confusion, but now full of concern as he stared back at her.

"You—"

"It's alright," he said, his voice low and gentle, almost like a whisper. He tried to reach out towards her, but she immediately backed away, still overcome by fear, a tight congestion in her chest as she struggled to breathe, her entire being shaking uncontrollably.

"It's alright, madame," he said again, and this time, she had regained enough composure to actually _hear_ what he was saying, and when he reached out to touch her again, she didn't flinch, and let his hand rest on her shoulder again. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"No, it was…" she casted a short glance at the pond, and much to her relief, as well as utter confusion, the girl was gone.

"Would you like to sit down?" he asked her, gesturing her towards the worm-eaten bench under a dying Birch tree nearby. She shook her head.

"No, I'm fine," she said.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, my dear," he remarked, not even aware of how accurate his words were.

"No, I'm—I'm fine," she just repeated, still trying to gather her thoughts. _'Ghost? That can't be. It must have been my imagination. It's my head. I hit my head. Or sleep. I just need sleep. I'm tired.'_ "I'm f-fine. I'm—"

"It's alright," he said again, pulling her a little closer to him as his hand travelled to her back as he rubbed it soothingly, close to an actual embrace. "You really need to sit down."

"Wait a minute," she said, pulling herself away from him again. Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you? Why are you—how long were you standing behind me?"

He looked hurt, but she didn't falter. "I just arrived," he explained. "I saw you from outside the fence and I immediately recognized you as the girl who tried to help me." He then rummaged underneath his overcoat, and took out the scarf that she had wiped his face with. "I'm very sorry if I frightened you, but I promise you that I mean you no harm. I only meant to thank you, and apologize for my behavior that night, and to return this."

"Oh," was all she could say as she retrieved her scarf. Her breathing started to even out, and she sighed deeply. "I'm sorry. I-I was just caught by surprise is all. Thank you."

He smiled warmly at her, and she forced a smile back, but it was a miserable attempt. She wanted to run, but she couldn't find it in her to do so, not when this man was here.

"I'm really sorry, sir," she said again with utmost sincerity as she folded the scarf and put it in her own coat pocket. "I shouldn't have been so aggressive. Also, for the dog—"

"Oh, don't you worry, my dear," he assured. "At least you didn't run away like I did."

'_He ran away. Of course!'_ She managed a snort at that.

"I'm—umm…I'm Veronica, by the way," she said, extending her hand out to him. "But you can call me 'Ronnie'."

As soon as he touched her hand, the first thing that flashed in her mind was how cold his skin still felt like, but the thought soon vanished when he bent down and kissed the back of her hand, and she instantly felt her cheeks heating up at the feel of his lips.

"I'd prefer to call you by your real name, Lady Veronica," he said as he straightened his back again, but kept her hand in his.

She giggled tautly, slowly withdrawing away from his hold. "Just Veronica, please," she said, "and your name, sir?"

"Tom," he said with a slight bow.

"Ah," she replied. "Nice to finally meet you, Tom. I see you come here often."

"I guess you could say that," he turned towards the pond. "I like the view."

Funny he should say that, she thought. She took another deep breath as she rubbed her arms. What she saw down there was just a figment of her imagination, she convinced herself.

'_Maybe it's a case of delirium. I'm under a lot of stress, I hit my head and—'_

Her thoughts were cut off from the sound of thunder rumbling. Ronnie instantly looked up, and noticed that the sky had gone dimmer, the clouds grayer, and the smell of the incoming rain was faint, but was definitely there. She then turned back to Tom. His face had hardened, scowling as he glared above.

"I take it you hate the rain," she said, half-jokingly. He reverted his gaze back to her.

"Quite," was his simple reply, and she couldn't help but giggle at his reaction, but more on the fact that the timing of the incoming rain was perfect. Now, she had an excuse to leave.

'_No, don't leave.'_

She froze.

'_Not yet. You can trust him.'_

"You know, there's a café near here," she said. "If you would like, maybe I could get us both coffee. It's the least I can do. Plus, it's a great way to wait for the rain to pass."

He grinned. "I would definitely like that."

~o~o~o~

Veronica wasn't exactly sure what came over her to invite Tom for coffee in the first place. Magnus had always reminded her to never talk to strangers, as did everyone else, but coming from someone who dealt with crime every single day, it made it sound all the more dangerous.

They sat near the glass pane where the rain pelted against the window as water poured endlessly. Lightning illuminated the day occasionally followed by the deep roar of thunder, but they didn't seem to mind, as both of them enjoyed the warmth of their cups and the quaint atmosphere of the café.

"So where are you from exactly?" She asked him. She planned to know as much as she could about him. The possibility that he was a serial killer out to get her didn't go past her. Hopefully, this was the last she would see him. Once the rain would pass, he will be nothing but a memory.

"I'm actually a tourist. Although, I much prefer the term 'traveler'. I live where the winds take me," he answered.

"Oh," she said, brows rising in genuine interest. It would never occur to her that he was a tourist. He certainly didn't look the part for someone adventurous. The way he carried himself was almost arrogant, yet noble, and so far from how she had seen him from the other night—looking terrified out of his wits as he quaked in his shoes. Who could blame him, though? She even felt embarrassed for him.

But now, he radiated elegance. So much so that she felt a bit self-conscious. The way he sat with his back never slouching and his chin held up high made him appear to be a refined Englishman. All he needed was a cane. "How long will you be staying in London then?"

"I suppose for a bit longer than I expected," he said. "I find this place to be interesting enough to stay in for a few more weeks."

She nodded, and brought her cup to her lips, taking a sip of her cappuccino. She closed her eyes and sighed satisfyingly as she felt the liquid go down her throat. He, on the other hand, hasn't let a single drop through his lips.

"You know, if you're looking for worthy sights to see, I suggest you go to the city," she said. "The north is a dull place compared to there."

"Well, I heard that Canonbury has quite a bit of history to it, so I figured it was worth a look," he replied, fingers caressing his cup. As he did so, Ronnie immediately took notice of his ring.

"Is your wife travelling, too?"

His eyes widened, and the constant smile on his face immediately faded. "My w-wife?"

"That ring on your finger," she pointed out. "I just assumed that you were married."

"This is nothing but an accessory, my dear," he said, moving his ring finger a little.

"Oh," she said, eyes never leaving the piece of jewelry, getting more captivated the longer she looked. There was something about it that looked so familiar to her. "That's a fine ring."

"Indeed, it is," he said, his smile reappearing as he sensed her interest. "Would you like to take a closer look?"

"May I?"

"Of course."

He then placed his elbow on the table, and she delicately took his hand in her own, and the chill of his skin no longer mattered.

She tilted her head slightly as she continued to examine it. At first glance, it looked like a Yin Yang symbol, with two tightly connected teardrop-shape halves, each drop housing a magnificent green gem, glimmering under the light. But as she looked closer, she came to realize that those teardrops weren't teardrops at all, but two heads of snakes converging with the other, their shimmering diamond eyes giving them away, their conjoined bodies making up the body of the ring.

"Ouroboros."

"Ah, you know what it is," he said, sounding pleased.

"Well, not exactly," she admitted shyly. She never let go of him. "I just read in a book that it symbolized some kind of 'archetypal' significance to the human psyche. I know the depiction, but I don't even know what it means."

"In actuality," he explained, "the Ouroboros represents a cycle."

"Life and death?"

"Usually," he said, shrugging.

She shot him a questioning glance. "Usually?"

He then leaned in closer. "Look," he said. "The Ouroboros is depicted as a snake biting its own tail. Can you find the tail?"

Her brows furrowed as she searched, even turning his hand over. "No," she answered. "Just the two heads."

"Which means there is no end."

"No death?"

"Yes," he murmured. "Infinite. Eternal."

"I see," she said, not aware of his watchful gaze. "It's…beautiful."

She marveled at how it glistened as she caressed the smooth gold, awed by how perfect it was sculpted, how perfectly polished as if it was brand new, and the way it slithered around his finger made one think that it was specifically made just for him.

"It matches your eyes," she said without thinking. Her eyes widened, and she could practically feel the blood creeping up to her cheeks again upon seeing the surprised look on his face. She immediately let go of his hand as if it burned her. "Oh, wow. Sorry. I don't normally do that."

'_What the bloody hell did I just say that for?'_

His smile grew. "It's alright, my lady," he said. "I appreciate the compliment. I think your eyes are beautiful, too."

She looked down and drew her hands to her lap, closing it into fists as she miserably tried to fight back the blush that grew more prominent. She heard him laugh, and to her surprise, she couldn't help but smile. And before she knew it, she was laughing along with him.

~o~o~o~

Anna cursed under her breath as she slammed her fingers down her phone. She just left yet another message in Ronnie's answering machine. She was already getting tired of that blasted automated reply and that bloody beeping.

"You know, babe, when you try calling people dozens of times but they don't answer, it usually means they don't want to talk to you," Oakley deadpanned, looking annoyed as he tried to keep their umbrella equally distributed with his one hand, while the other held Anna's as he led her on, almost pulling her, their steps splashing water at each other as they trekked past the small shops and houses under the dreary weather.

"Shut it," she spat. "I'm just trying to be a good friend."

"If you're such a _good_ _friend_, why don't you tell her what's going on?" he countered.

"There's nothing going on," she said with a snort. He turned to her, pouting, and she stuck her tongue out in return. "Don't look at me like that."

Oakley rolled his eyes as he turned his gaze away from her while Anna returned her attention to her phone and started dialing Ronnie's number again.

Truthfully, she worried about the counselor. She saw it as ironic that Ronnie had always been a support group for people she barely even knew, when she, herself, didn't have one. Anna tried to take it upon herself to be that person for her, but Ronnie was just too damn stubborn.

'_She thinks she's so collected since she's so educated.'_

"Ann."

'_Well, guess what, Ronnie? You're very capable of going bonkers, too!'_

"Ann."

'_Damn it. Answer the bloody phone!'_

"Anna."

"What?" she snapped. Only then did she realize that they had stopped and Oakley nodded towards a certain joint across the street. She followed his direction.

"_Maison d'être_?" she said, reading the sign on the placard. She turned to him, brow up in question. "You want coffee?"

He rolled his eyes once more. This time, he pointed a straight finger at exactly what he was trying to show her—a couple sitting by the window inside the café.

Anna's eyes narrowed at them as she tried to make out who they were, and then she gasped.

"Oh, my…"

There she was—Ronnie—the one person she had been trying to call, the one person that made her worry to no end, sitting across a man she didn't even recognize.

"Who the bloody hell is that?"

"Don't know," Oakley shrugged. Anna then pulled him behind the nearest waiting shed.

"Take a picture."

"What?" he looked at her in disbelief.

"Never mind," she said, withdrawing her hand from his as she started fumbling with her phone again. "I'll do it."

"_Good_ _friend_, huh?" he muttered. "Let me guess. You're _better friends_ with her boyfriend?" Yes. Even _he_ knew that his therapist was dating someone. Her private life was no secret to him. Anna practically had told him everything she knew about her. If Ronnie found out…

She shushed him, and once she got to her set her camera, she directed it towards them, making sure she zoomed as close as she could and at the same time, staying hidden. "I can't believe this."

"What makes you think she's cheating with that bloke, anyway?" said Oakley. "Hasn't it occurred to you that he may be just a friend?"

But Ronnie didn't have any other friends besides Anna.

"Just look at him!" she pressed frantically. "Look!"

"I_ am_ looking!" cried Oakley, but he wasn't exactly sure what she was talking about. All he could see was a man talking to a woman, nothing unusual.

"Look at the way he looks at her," she said, frowning. "It's—it's—"

"Romantic?"

"Disturbing! It's like he's undressing her with his eyes!"

"You're crazy, woman," Oakley couldn't help but comment.

Her last sentence might be an overstatement, but Anna was genuinely disturbed. The man was leaning over the table, elbows propped as his head was resting against his hands while Ronnie talked. Not once did Anna see him look away from her, a steadfast grin on his features, almost like he was mesmerized. And then, when it was his turn to speak, Ronnie's eyes would lit up and she would laugh, and Anna could almost hear her as she tilted her head back slightly as she did so.

She had never seen Ronnie that happy in weeks.

"So, are you going to tell on her?" said Oakley, cutting her off from her thoughts.

"N-no."

His brow rose. "Why not?"

"She—maybe, you're right," she settled. "Maybe he _is_ just a friend, and I'm just getting too excited about this."

"You don't say," he remarked, earning him a jab in his side. He chuckled as he linked their hands again. "Come on. Let's go. Don't want to catch a cold now, do you?"

Anna sighed and nodded. "Right."

But of course, that didn't mean she wouldn't take a picture just for kicks now, did it?

~o~o~o~

They stayed in their spot for hours. Ronnie had let him do the talking this time. She listened to him, and noted how his voice flowed like chocolate, so sweet and velvety, and almost hypnotizing. He spoke so intelligently, and sometimes she would find herself thinking deeply while trying to keep up with the subject at hand which was literally about everything under the sun—everything except questions about herself.

Sure, he would always ask for her opinion, but never did she catch him asking him regarding her personal information. And there she was, trying to dig up as much as she could about him, even his social life. She felt honestly guilty for that, and it brought her to thinking that she was actually in debt to him.

Earlier, when she was scared out of her wits, he was there to calm her down, and even when she literally pushed him away (not to mention that she hit him at one point), he stayed and remained patient. And he was nothing but a stranger to her then.

There was something about this man, she thought, but wasn't quite sure what it was. And even when the rain ceased, even when their cups had gone sticky for being empty for too long, even when the afternoon turned to night, she was still there with him, no longer aware of the time as she found herself too allured by his company. There was never a moment when they both had nothing more to say, no awkward silences whatsoever. Before Ronnie knew it, she was already feeling better—way better than she felt just a couple of hours ago, way better than she had been feeling for so long, way better than she thought she could ever be in the current state of her life.

"I can't believe it's that late already," she finally realized, turning to the clock that hung at the back of the café.

"Do you have some other agenda to attend to?" he asked.

"Not really, but I do have work tomorrow."

"I see," he said, and the hint of sadness in his tone didn't go pass her notice. "I was really hoping to get to know you better." Her eyes widened slightly, feeling another blush creeping.

"Umm…," she said, looking down as she bashfully twirled a lock of her hair. "We could meet again tomorrow, if you want."

"Really?" he said, lighting up instantly.

"Well, since you're new here, maybe I could accompany you to a tour, or something," she murmured. "I-if you haven't gone before, that is."

"I would love that, Veronica," he said, placing his hand over hers on the table. "I look forward to it."

She inwardly gasped at the contact, and her gaze darted towards him in shock. But he didn't move. He kept his hand there, smiling ever so charmingly at her, amazingly green eyes twinkling under the light.

'_Magnus,'_ was the first thing she could think of, breath hitching. But despite that, she returned Tom's smile.

And she didn't move away either.


	9. Chapter Seven

**A/N:** I would like to thank all of those who support me in the making of this story. Your kind words inspire me to keep on writing!

The following chapter will be told as a flashback.

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER SEVEN<strong>

* * *

><p>Loki's gaze never left the young girl all throughout the trial. He watched her cower before the Allfather, looking smaller than she already was. Beside her was Lady Freya, the one who was the subject of the ordeal. He saw the girl reach for Freya's arm, but the older woman snapped and recoiled through her binds, acting like the young one was such an impurity. It infuriated the prince, and if it weren't for his family and the council that were all present in the Throne Room, he would have snapped the old hag's neck with a flick of his wrist.<p>

And as if she had heard his thoughts, Freya turned to him with the most menacing glare he had ever seen on a woman, and he was all too glad to return it. She was obviously blaming him for her predicament, but there is also no denying that she had brought all of this upon herself. Whatever punishment Odin had in store for her, she deserved every bit of it.

~o~o~o~

_He found himself lost in the fog that blanketed the entire Vanir land. He could hear his brother's calls for him, but they fell on deaf ears. He had warned Thor that venturing into Vanaheim wasn't a good plan if he sought for adventure. He had never been to this land before, but he had heard and read of tales of its beauty._

_Vanic architecture was thought to have been light and organic, and so much different from the land of the Aesir. But Loki was always open to beauty in all its kinds. He could have appreciated Vanaheim, but the land itself was nothing but barren now—dead and gone. And yet, a lone castle stood before him, and although beyond broken and ancient, he could feel that its foundations were still strong. Of course, it had to be. It once housed the king and his family. But now, it stood as a monument—a reminder of what the Vanir had lost so many centuries ago._

_He heard Thor call for him again, but he only sneered. Let him search, he thought. That would ought to teach him a lesson to actually listen to him for once. Instead, he made his way inside the palace._

_Markings of violence marked the marble floors. The sound of his steps echoed against the cracked walls. He noticed the drops of blood that stained the ancient paintings. It was as if it was fresh out of war, and he could almost feel the presence of the lost Vanir that now haunted the grounds. Yet, he kept his stance, his fear entirely absent._

_And then suddenly, he heard a gasp._

_His head darted where he had heard it, just in time to see a shadow running away through the long halls, until its whole being was engulfed in the fog. With curiosity getting the best of him, he broke into a sprint after it._

_The corridors were like a labyrinth the longer he ran, but he doubted he would lose his way. He could hear very well the tiny pants, and the running steps that grew slower every passing second. Ultimately, he heard a large door closing further ahead. When he came upon it, he jumped and tried to kick it open, only to be flung backwards by a flare of energy. He tumbled to the floor and winced. He glared at the door in both annoyance and astonishment._

'Magic,'_ he instantly thought, and a powerful kind at that to be able to literally throw him, the God of Mischief, off._

_He stood back up while rubbing his pained back. He then walked over towards the double door and slowly placed his palms over it. Fortunately, it didn't retaliate against him again, but he did feel its power radiating through his touch. It felt so familiar, yet he couldn't pinpoint why. But no matter, he thought, now placing both palms on each knob. If it was guarded with magic, he could easily tinker with it until he saw fit. Maybe he wasn't physically powerful, but he compensated for that with his mastery in magic. He then closed his eyes and concentrated._

CLICK!

_He smirked, feeling triumphant. And without further ado, he flung the door open, and his eyes widened at the sight that greeted him._

_The door had led him to the very back of the castle, an open space that he could only assume was the courtyard. No, he thought as he disagreed within himself. It wasn't a courtyard._

_It was a garden._

_To his surprise, the fog was absent, giving him a grand view of the myriads of flowers of different kinds scattered all around the evergreen grass, lined with perfectly groomed shrubs, and plentiful rooted trees. He couldn't help but breath in the amorous air as beauty flowed in all corners._

_Many of the Aesir had gardens, but none of them had gone to great lengths such as this._

_This may be just a glimpse of what Vanaheim had been before._

_Loki walked through the plants. He could also hear a fountain somewhere in the background. He slowly felt himself relax, only to be alerted by a small squeak that came from behind. He turned around and saw something small duck behind a flowering bush, reminding him how and why he had gotten to this place in the beginning._

'A dwarf?'_ he thought, catching a glimpse of a small hooded figure. His curiosity only became more inevitable to ignore. If the dwarf was the one who had casted that enchantment on the door, then he was worthy of the God of Mischief's interest._

_"Wh-Who are you?" was the dwarf's nervous query, beating Loki from asking it first. He immediately took note of the dwarf's female tone, but to his confusion, the voice didn't come from the bush. Instead, it came from behind a fruit tree to his right._

_"My name is Ikol," Loki lied with no hesitation, setting aside his puzzlement. "I mean you no harm. Will you please show yourself?"_

_"No," she stubbornly replied, now coming from a shrub to his right._

_He sighed, formulating a plan in his mind. If he wanted to let her know that she could be trusted, he would have to be patient. The dwarf was adept to magic. He would have to be more careful._

_"I didn't mean to intrude," he assured. "I never thought that someone still lived here."_

_Especially not a dwarf, he added in thought._

_"I like your garden," he continued. "Did you make this all by yourself?"_

_There was the sound of winnowing leaves._

_"Y-Yes," came the dwarf's soft reply, now coming from behind the first bush she had hidden in._

_"Will you tell me your name?" he asked, trying his hardest to sound friendly and unthreatening. "Please?"_

_She didn't move this time, for he saw her peeking at him from the same bush._

_"Sigyn," she replied._

_"And who is your father, Sigyn?" he asked._

_"Mother told me never to tell."_

_He raised a brow, and then he cleared his throat. "Will you let me see you?" He noticed her duck away again. "It's alright. I swear to you that I won't hurt you."_

_Finally, she emerged from the bush, head hanging low under her violet hood, and ever so slowly did she move away from her spot until she was in full view in front of him._

_She seemed tall and slender for a dwarf, he noticed, and that was when he realized that she wasn't a dwarf at all. No, he thought. It can't be._

_She was just a child._

_Did that mean a mere child was able to pull of such magic?_

_He approached her warily._

_"Will you let me see you, Sigyn?" he asked as he reached out to touch her. She didn't make a move to escape when he managed to reach her hood, but she kept on quaking on her feet. "It's alright, little one."_

_He kneeled before her to seem less intimidating, but he still managed to be a few inches taller. Eventually, he pulled down her hood, and he inwardly gasp when he finally saw her face._

_"You're Freya's child," he immediately concluded. The child nodded._

_Freya was known to be the most beautiful maiden in all the Nine Realms. From the shining blond hair tumbling around her shoulders in waves, to the sapphire blue eyes, to her ivory skin, along with the clingy robes that she was always so inclined to wear that draped almost erotically around her slender, curving figure, she was the epitome of beauty, and her magical prowess didn't deter her from that. The woman was gifted in so many ways, and while the Aesir kissed the ground she walked on, Loki couldn't care less about her._

_But not this time._

_No wonder the enchantment on the door was so familiar, he thought._

_He had no doubt that this little girl was her offspring. Except for the child's brown tresses, she was the spitting image of her mother._

_But why would Freya hide this one little girl? What is it about her that she seemed so ashamed of?_

_And then it came to him._

_The father, he realized. He had to know who her father was._

_He tucked a strand of her matted hair behind the girl's ear in a gentle manner while she looked at him with wide and worried eyes. She looked so pale and delicate._

_"Do you live here all by yourself?" he asked._

_"Not all the time," she muttered. "Mo-Mother comes to visit me every night."_

'Oh, so that is why,'_ he thought, recalling catching the Vanr sneaking out at dusk, but he had always assumed that she had gone out to meet with one of her many lovers. It was why she had never caught his attention. She disgusted him by how she exploited herself so lowly._

_"Who else knows of you?"_

_"No-No one," she replied._

_"Why not?"_

_"Mother told me th-that if King Odin would kn-know that I live, he will surely have me k-killed."_

_Loki inwardly gasped, but managed to hide his surprise well._

_"Why would she tell you that?"_

_"K-King Odin was the one who killed Njord, my gr-grandfather," she explained with glistening eyes. "He was also the one wh-who killed my uncle, Freyr. He is the rea-reason the Vanir have gone. It is because of him that my mo-mother is suffering."_

_"Suffering?" he said disbelievingly._

_"Sh-She tells me how he has her bound to be tortured in the dungeons."_

_He pulled his hand away from her in bewilderment. The poor girl had been lied to, and what is more is that his father's name was tainted in the eyes of such a small child._

_Njord, the king of Vanaheim, was never slain by Odin, or by any Aesir for that matter. He had slain himself with his own broad sword because he was too filled with pride to live with defeat against the might of the Allfather._

_His son, Freyr, wasn't killed by the Aesir either. He was killed by his own foolishness for letting himself fall in love with a Frost Giant named Gerd who had tricked him into thinking that she shared the same feelings, and when he left his life in Asgard to be with his supposed beloved, he was greeted by a blade that sliced cleanly through his neck._

_And as for Freya, she was treated in the House of Odin as if she was one of his children. Odin took it upon himself to care for the fallen Vanic king's children, and he made sure they lived such healthy and prosperous lives. Whatever misfortune that fell upon the Vanir after the war were all led by their own stupidity, which Odin had no hand in._

_Why, he thought. Why would Freya lie?_

_He then set himself to fully sit on the bed of grass, legs crossed._

_"Will you come sit with me, Sigyn?" he asked her, mustering up his warmest smile as he patted the ground next to him. She looked as if she was about to run for a moment, until she slowly got down beside him, maybe thinking that she didn't have a choice in the matter. He reached out for the nearest flower that hung on a bush. "Watch."_

_He clasped his hands, making sure the flower was well in between his palms, and when he opened them once again, she gaped in awe. The flower was gone, but was replaced by a small bird, chirping as it perched itself upon his hand._

_"Amazing!" she exclaimed. "How did you do it?"_

_"Magic, of course," he explained with a genuine grin. "I heard your mother is very good at it, as well. From what I've seen, she's taught you too, hasn't she?"_

_"Yes," she said with a nod. "But she only taught me magic that would protect me."_

_Not to protect, he thought bitterly, but to hide._

_He told her to hold her hand out, and as she did, she let out a tiny squeal of delight when the bird jumped on her palm. He watched as she petted it with soft caresses. He was surprised at himself for feeling satisfied by the girl's sudden felicity. She may have been probably the first who had appreciated his abilities, and that mere trick didn't even show a tiny fraction on what he could really do._

_"Would you like to learn a different kind of magic, little one?"_

_"Yes," she said eagerly, her fear of him now gone completely._

_"Then, how about this—I swear to visit you here every day and teach you, only if you tell me who your father is."_

_She frowned and looked away. "M-mother will be angry with me. I'm afraid."_

_"Your mother doesn't have to know that you told someone," he told her._

_"Really?" she asked, turning back to him, and he replied with a nod and an assuring smile, and much to his pleasure, she smiled back._

_And so, she told him everything, and why Freya had kept her from the world now came to him in light. And with this knowledge Sigyn had naively bestowed upon him, he kept his side of the bargain._

_Still in the guise of 'Ikol', Sigyn had become his secret as well, and while Freya visited her at night, he was there with her during the day. He would even bring her gifts—most of them simple, but pretty, for he knew even the most fundamental of things could make her smile._

_Over the years, his mind kept coming back to the child. His family had noticed his lack of presence in the castle, but being the gifted liar that he was, he managed different excuses just so he could go to her, and for hours until the sun would set, he would stay in the garden in Vanaheim, teaching her, and at the same time, bringing her joy—something Freya had failed to do._

_And before he even realized it, he had grown to care for her more than he previously intended, and the more he thought of her, the angrier he became with Freya, who prevented her from living the life Sigyn so deserved._

_Then, there came a day, when Sigyn was well in her early adolescent stage, that she finally developed a longing to see the world outside, to see what she had been missing all this time._

_"I feel caged," she had told him. "Your visits and gifts are my most precious treasures, but someday, I would like to be the one to visit you, and see what your world looks like. You must live such a fulfilling life with no one and nothing to hold you back."_

_Loki always thought of his actions fully before executing them, but this time, that one simple adumbration made him act out of the norm. It triggered something inside him. He couldn't really explain it, but then, all he could think about was Sigyn's happiness._

~o~o~o~

_One night, with only a few hours before the sun would rise again, Freya returned to her chambers after her nightly visit to her daughter. There was a box settled on top of her vanity, decorated with different colored gems and silver. She went over to open it, excitement rushing through her even though she had opened it so many times before, but as soon as the lid left its place, she gasped in shock and horror when she had found that it was empty._

_"I don't suppose you're looking for this," a voice behind her said. She froze instantly, recognizing who the voice belonged to. She turned around, and was beheld by the presence of the God of Mischief, himself, emerging from the shadows and then stood before her as he held what she had been looking for—her necklace, Brisingamen, dangling on his fingers as the gold that it was crafted from glowed, its silver clasps holding its spectacular pentagram pendant in place._

_"Prince Loki, what—what are you doing in my room?" she asked, but he didn't answer, and only began to fiddle with the jewelry. "That is mine."_

_He stared at her, and she could have sworn from the mischievous glint in his eyes that he was, once again, up to no good._

_"I am well aware of that," he said casually. "And by 'well aware', I also mean that I know of its origins."_

_All the color drained from her face right then and there._

_"I have always thought you to be promiscuous when it came to lovers, but it would never have occurred to me that you were promiscuous enough to give yourself to a dwarf," he went on. "You and your brother have a lot more in common than I thought."_

_"It wasn't for love," she spat angrily._

_"And that makes it all better, doesn't it?" he mocked her as he continued playing with her necklace, the very same that she pleaded with the dwarf to make for her in exchange for herself._

_"I beg of you," she prayed to him. "Don't tell our king."_

_"And why wouldn't I?"_

_She paused for a moment, and then she straightened. She strutted towards him until she was close enough to be able to touch him._

_"I'll do anything you would ask of me," she said, leaning over as she traced a finger teasingly on his chest, lips dangerously close to his. "Anything." But to her surprise, he stepped away from her and scrunched his nose in disgust._

_"The fact that you are offering yourself to me only infuriates me."_

_She gaped at him. No man had refused her before. She wasn't used to rejection. And because of this that she began to panic._

_"Then…what do you have me do?" she cried. "What do you want from me?"_

_"Your daughter."_

_"Wh-What?" she squeaked, eyes wide in outrage. She clutched at the cloth covering her chest as her breathing became uneven, and beads of sweat started to form on her forehead. _'He knows...'_  
><em>

_"Sigyn," he answered in all seriousness, "the forgotten princess who you allow to live in the ruins of what was once your home."_

_"You—You wish to wed her?"_

_"I never said such a thing," he said with a scowl, a little irritated by the assumption. "I only wish for you to reveal her to the Allfather."_

_"Why?"_

_"Why not?" he countered. "She is your daughter, is she not? If Odin knows of her, she will surely be offered a place here in the castle, just like you and Freyr, but since your twin brother's stupidity had led him to his demise, Lady Sigyn could take his place."_

_And if Odin found out that Sigyn was the spawn of a Vanr and a dwarf—a half-breed, Freya would definitely lose her place as well. Loki didn't need to mention that._

_Interracial affairs may have not been illegal in Vanaheim, but it was in Asgard. It was the reason why Freyr had kept his romance in secret as well, but in the end, everyone knew what he had done when it was already too late._

_And now, his sister had done the same._

_"That way, you won't need to travel to Vanaheim every night," Loki continued. "Surely, as her mother, you would think that she deserves the same treatment you receive here."_

_She didn't know why he would go through all the trouble for her daughter, and it got her to thinking that he had an ulterior motive, but she had no choice now, no time to think. With her secret in his hands, he could might as well make her do anything he wanted, and she had no more right to question him._

_She gulped and nodded. "Of course."_

_"Good," he said, looking contented as he finally grinned._

_"If I bring her here, do you swear to me that you would never tell the Allfather about my affair?" Freya bargained. The grin on the God of Mischief's face only broadened, looking malicious as ever, sending shivers down her spine.  
><em>

_"I do so swear, Lady Freya," he promised._

_So he told everyone else instead._

~o~o~o~

The trial ended with the result that Brisingamen will stay in Odin's possession in his treasure vault while Freya would serve Odin as one of his Valkyries for the rest of her life, entrusting her with the task of leading all the fallen warriors through the halls of Valhalla.

It was such a generous punishment, Loki thought, but he also knew that Freya treasured her status in royalty above all else, and now that she was reduced to a mere servant to the Allfather, he was sure it was killing her inside, and Loki took pleasure in that.

And as for Sigyn's case, as Loki had intended, Odin had offered her a life with the Aesir, and she accepted, although it was out of fear. When her sentence was declared, Loki had wanted to assure her that everything would be alright, even though he had so many times before, but she didn't listen to him.

Not anymore.

He watched as a Valkyrie led Freya away, while another led Sigyn to her new chambers.

He felt his mother's hand on his shoulder.

"You did well, Loki," she praised. "Now, go to her. She needs you."

Loki initially wanted to give Sigyn time to settle in before he would talk to her and explain himself. But then again, the sooner, the better.

He went to her room later, and knocked on the door.

"Come in," she said a faint voice that could only be hers. He took a deep breath before he went inside.

She was sitting on her new bed, holding her knees as they pressed against her chest, and when she lifted her head to see who had come in, she quickly turned away, still refusing to look at him.

"Sigyn—"

"I trusted you," she cut him off, voice quivering. "I shouldn't have trusted you."

Loki instantly felt his chest tighten at that. He then walked over to her bed and had enough nerve to sit close to her, but she scooted away. He let out a sigh.

"Aren't you happy now that you have a real home?" he said. "You don't have to live in the ruins anymore."

"Mother hates me."

"She lied to you," he pointed out, annoyed that she still cared about Freya even after everything.

"So, did you," she spat, finally turning to him, but with a glare. His eyes narrowed as he frowned, recalling how Freya did the same.

"I lied to you for good reason," he said. "She lied to you just so she could get what she wanted, and what she wanted wasn't for your sake."

In truth, he never wanted to keep lying to her. He had wanted her to know who he really was—that he wasn't this man called 'Ikol', but Loki, the son of the man she had been taught to fear. But seeing as how she had reacted to that revelation only proved to him that what he did was right.

"You also promised me you wouldn't tell," she said.

"I never promised you that. I only said that Freya didn't have to know."

"I thought you were my friend," her voice cracked, spilling betrayal and hurt. He was the God of Mischief and Lies. Betrayal was in his nature, but only this time did he feel the guilt that stabbed through his chest like a dagger.

"I _am_ your friend," he assured, but she only shook her head. "Come here," he beckoned her, but she only moved farther, almost falling on the edge of her bed.

"No," she said, reminding him how she had kept hiding from him when they first met. He wanted to think that if he got through to her before, he would be able to do so again, but the circumstances were just too different, and Sigyn wasn't as naïve as she was when she was younger.

"Sigyn—"

"I have no one now!" she sobbed, tears streaming down her white face. "Because of you, I have _no one_!"

The dagger of guilt twisted painfully in his chest. He had never seen her angry before, nor had he seen her tears, and he hated knowing that it was all because of him. He hated feeling this way, and he hated how she made him feel it, and yet he couldn't stay away from her. She had grown far too precious to him to let go of.

"You have me," he murmured, and he felt a tiny sense of victory when her teary gaze softened towards him. Her anger dissipated, but was replaced by raw sadness instead. "Let me hold you," he told her softly as he moved towards her. This time, she didn't move away, and let his arms wrap themselves around her in an embrace. And then, a few seconds later, she found herself returning it as she buried her face in his chest, clutching at his robes as she cried. "It's alright," he said, rubbing circles on her back with one hand, while the other held her head close. "From now on, I'll be the one to take care of you."

"Wh-Why?" she asked, turning her head to the side as to not muffle her words. "You're a prince. Why would you take care of me?"

"Because we're friends, remember?" he said, smiling. "And you're a princess, and for every princess, there is always a prince that will be there to protect her."

It was so uncharacteristic of him to say such things, but as the words flowed, he meant it wholeheartedly. All his life, he had thought that his only purpose was to bring conflict and discord through his trickery, but all that has changed.

He began to wonder what could have been if he didn't see her, and she had continued to live a life of lies made by her own mother, but he banished the thought in his mind. He didn't want to think about that. He was meant to find her that day. He was meant to save her. And now, he had found a new purpose to his existence.

"Loki?" she whispered.

He shuddered. It was the first time she had said his real name.

"Yes?" he replied. And then, he felt her smile.

"Thank you."


End file.
